OFF THE TOP by FLEDERMAUS

The following is an editorial reprinted from issue #2 of Chain Link, the Quarterly News Journal of the National Leather Association.

'NEW' VS. 'OLD' LEATHER by Steve Maidhof, President, National Leather Association

Recently, I have been hearing a lot of talk about "new" leather vs. "old" leather. I have heard many conversations where the speaker has been involved for many years with the Leather/ SM scene, and disdains the younger "puppies" who have less experience. It disturbs me just a bit that I have been around long enough to see a generational conflict arising within my community, but that is just the way it seems things are going.

Those of us who have been around for a while often find ourselves quite confused by the approach of some of our younger brothers and sisters, and it is far too easy to echo the sentiments of OUR parents, "What's happening to this younger generation?'

We came from a very closed society in the sixties and early seventies that was a direct outgrowth of our closets. As the rest of the Gay / Lesbian community was bursting out of its closet doors, we preferred to remain behind ours. (It was comfortable, it was well-ordered and we liked it there.) Many of us came out of our Lesbian / Gay closets, but left intact the door to that secret closet marked Leather / SM. We were told by the emerging leaders that our presence would only hinder the move-

Now we are faced with a group of leather dykes and leathermen who came out into a far different world than we found in 1969 or 1979. These people seem to have a set of mores that is not as well defined as those we so carefully built behind our leather closet doors. They play by somewhat different rules that throw our sense of order into the winds. So, rather than to take these people seriously and attempt to teach them the things we have learned through our years of experience, we dismiss them as not being "true" leather.

Many of these "new leather" types are indeed people who are treating their leather as a fashion statement, rather than an expression of lifestyle. More, however, are wearing their leathers, fully cognizant of its implication and looking for someone who will teach them in a more safe, sane, and consensual manner. Still more have developed their own set of mores and customs that are considerably different than those practiced for so many years by us "old" types. These behaviors may not conform to our norm, but they seem to work pretty well.

The main problem from all of this is that some of us "old farts" tend to dismiss the others altogether , and we spend so much time determining who is "old" and who is "new" that we never manage to get together and recognize our commonalities.

Perhaps at one time we could afford to be so cliquish, but I don't believe we can anymore. All of us, regardless of our form of sexual expression, regardless of the traditions and customs, are essentially of ONE community . We have too many ene-mies on the outside to afford internal squabbles.

So, "old" leather, remember that these "new" types are part of US and "new, try to remember that there may be something you can learn from our 5, 15, 20 or more years of experience .

Old, Older, Oldest

I fully agree with the points Steve expresses above, but think that he is perhaps failing to acknowledge a third group, and an older problem. Those of us he is generally speaking of as "old" above are those who were aware of their interests vears ago but did our "leather" coming-out in post-Stonewall days. We have blossomed into "public" leatherpersons, but are well aware of the pre-Stonewall inhibitions and secrecy.

I found Steve's article initially jarring because for years I have considered myself one of the "new" leather types and Steve is considerably "newer" than I. To me the "old" leather-men were those who WERE the leather / SM scene before Stonewall . To them the scene was a very secret ritual, consisting of precise roles and rites of passage . Like the Masons viewing Mozart's "Magic Flute," many pre-Stonewall Leathermen felt that Larry Townsend had violated a confidence when he published "The Leatherman's Handbook" and exposed their secret world to anyone who bought the book. Our "old institutions " like Larry's publications , DungeonMaster, and the Mineshaft, were upstarts wearing thin the mystique the old guard had for so long protected .

But Steve is right, years have passed, we ARE now the "old," and we frequently object to the 'puppies" who have never felt a need to hide, who "want it all, right now!" Stonewall was the trigger, a catharsis, which changed the lives of every sexually "different" man and woman . AIDS is another one. These two milestones divide us not into two generations, but into many based upon our experience , activities, and state of mind before and after each. And as with "families" and societies everywhere, the many generations within the Leather/ SM communities must share their experience and their innocent enthusiasm, their ritual -AFD and their freedom.

When shall we three meet again. In thunder, lightning or in rain. When the hurlyburly's done. When the battle's lost and won.

Macbeth.

Moses had at first not really wanted the Harley (they called it the Hog). He trusted himself but Sean was always in trouble. Moses had not wanted the Harley but his black soul knew deep down somewhere in the black confines of the black bones in his black bloody bowels that eventually he'd have one. The bike was a given. One of many. They called it the Hog because it was a hog; it ate up the road the same way some men eat midnight. The Hog and Sean were made for one another. They fit. "Okay," Moses had said at the time to his whiteboy loverboy, "you wanna Harley, whiteboy? You're gonna to have to learn how to use it or it sure as shit will learn how to use you." So there it was. And Sean learned well because Sean was trouble.

Sean could not remember how long he'd been on the bike. It seemed like forever. The wet ribbon of bibleblack blacktop floated beneath him effortlessly. The Hog ate and fed. Eating road eating road. Eating and feeding. It rained when Sean had left Manhattan but then it would. The wet chill had bounced off his leather. Sean could glide and manipulate his way in, around and through the Greenwich Village traffic snarl, breeze-on by New Jersey, head the bike west and hog his way to freedom wherever freedom was. Sean was a renegade but then Sean had always been a renegade. Trouble. He was stopped by Highway Patrol somewhere in the Mid-West. Farmer country and hot as an old crone's tit in August. Sean wanted to be half-naked. It was hot enough to be half-naked. But Sean could not afford to look like a faggot. And he made sure the cop caught a glimpse of his old Marine Vietnam ID card—turning raggedy—it also turned the trick. And the cop let him go without too much hassle, which was a good thing for the cop.

Sean could have killed the man but he didn't.

It was fullmoon late and somehow his body seemed glued into position on the bike. He should have ached but with that much power between his crazy legs he never ached. He just ate road. He had left Chicago at twilight and was well past Rock Island at coolblack silent midnight. Awesome midnight. Leather midnight. Totally alone midnight blue. One man one bike and the road, eating road. Sean knew that eventually he'd have to find a place to pull over-perhaps sleep if sleep would come-if he could find a hiding place somewhere within the anonymous sacrosanct shadows of the fullmoon. Somewhere in the trees. It would be a half-sleep. The kind of sleep he had grown used to in Khe Sahn. Half asleep. Half ready to fight.

Listening . .

It was after three somewhere off the road. Somewhere quiet and inviolate. Somewhere where the owls stood watch. The Harley cooled with an almost evil seethe. Sean could hear the soft enigmatic sound of a train in the raving distance. The whistle of the train. The trains were always full of faggots. Sean did not look like a faggot. And so far he had managed to avoid the trains. He could still sense the heat from his bike. And he simply rested, listening to the night scream her sounds of trains, trains filled with faggots, midnight trains on their midnight way to wherever it is such faggot screams in the bibleblackness swallow themselves whole like bibletongues stuck down a man's throat during his last final squirming exploding moments.

Moses had known for a long time that eventually he'd be found. It was a given. One of many. "How long do you think we can hide?" he'd ask, although it was not really a question. Not long: the answer hung between Sean and Moses with a promiscuous tension. Unspoken. It was a time when men did whatever men could do to—survive. You hid you vanished you allowed the earth to suck you up you survived because surviving was all that

had been left to you. It was a time of roundups and trains and the sick stink from ovens at the edge of town any town would do and quarantines and horror and let's go quietly arrests in the hushed bloodless faggot night. It was a time of fear and piles of bodies and brothers who dies faggotnaked thin in your arms in camps in trains in ditches dug into the ground by the men buried there. men who were buried by men who would be buried elsewhere themselves. The final extenuating irony to genocide being the fact that the dead had to be buried by the living. It was a time of business as usual. You dug someone else's grave. Someone else dug yours.

Sean was off before sunrise. Heading west. "Eventually you'll have to go, Sean" Moses had said many times. But Sean kept putting the moment off. It wasn't really happening it couldn't possibly be happening. Not here. Not now.

"Come with me," Sean would say. And his whiteboy sultry eyes would lasciviously beg, Moses liked it when Sean begged.

"Don't beg," he'd say. "It's hard enough, you don't have to beg. Whatchyou thinking anyway, whiteboy, a black motherfucker like me riding all fuckfree with some white dude like you, pigshit Sean, we'd get picked up before we'd get halfway to Chicago. You got to think about going NOW. And not with me, whiteboy, Not with me. LOOK AT ME! Motherfucker, I'm a blacknigger stick-it-in -yer-face Namvet heroinqueer and you cannot hide me cause, Sean, I cannot be hidden. Get this fuck through your whiteboy skull I love your candy ass, whiteboy, now you've got to fucking 90 …

Sean had refused to go. Moses had hit him. Sean did not often cry.

That had been the last time they had made love—fucked—oh, they had fucked in some of the most sublime places through some of the most sublime and tortured of times. They had fucked in Nam. Both men were sweaty ripe for it. Fucking was a given. One of many. Sean had teased Moses because Sean was trouble. And he paraded his tight whiteboy butt in front of Moses' face until Moses finally had him late one night in their airless deathsmelling bunker. Some of the other men watched. It had to be done. They had fucked somewhat obsessively after Nam back in the States. They had, of course, fucked on the Hog. It was a given. One of many. It was easier for them than most to go underground with it-with themselves-with the fucking when so many of their kind-faggots-started being daylight caught, rounded up, quarantined, put in camps, put onto trains. It was easier for them than most to lose themselves because losing touch with who you were in order to survive had become so much second nature. They could do this in their si ep, They lived in a basement for a long time. It was never too smart to remain stationary for very long. From the basement they had moved to an attic where often it was difficult to escape the sounds of the screams from those who found themselves surrounded. Caught. Rounded up. Put on trains. They had spent six months undetected in an abandoned building on the Lower East Side. It was here that they fucked with abandon for the last time.

They had been abandoned and as a result they managed to learn how to abandon themselves to one another; they were all they had. The last time being as raw as intractable as giving as-turbulent-as the first time.

The room was small, cold and concrete. A single mattress lay in a corner on the floor where the two men were naked; there was nothing small, cold or uglyhard about the love and the sense of bonding they possessed and which possessed them. Sean impregnated his wet disingenuous tongue deeply into his lover's sexually absolved shithole. Whiteboy ate and feasted his honest way into the black motherfucker's giving bowels. Moses reached up and pushed Sean's face into his black crack-eat my ass. The white renegade's pink tongue danced over darkly curled rectal hair. Moses opened his hole and told Sean to fuck him. Sean had never fucked him. And now that that war was over and another war had taken its place Sean had still never fucked Moses.

"Fuck me," Moses said.

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Sean mounted the man and fucked him, Moses' black liquid eyes never leaving the eyes and the soul of his whiteboy candyass renegade lover. Sean spermed. He gasped. He spasmed shot screamed came and collapsed into the strong masculine black arms of the man he was leaving to an uncertain fate. The one man he trusted. The one man he had been with for so long but now that was over. The one man he had committed himself to. Commitment. His face rested on Moses' muscular chest. A slow singular drop of sweat formed on Moses' left tit and languidly seemed to fall, to drop sweetly, to merge with the rest of his male black wetness. Sean kissed his lover's black breast and slept.

In all of their years in all of their jungles and in all of the wars they had seen it was the first time Moses allowed himself to cry. Sean left in the morning. Moses could not bear to see his whiteboy go. Sean had to go if he was going to survive. Commitment. If he was going to avoid being put onto a morgue train to midnight madness. Moses would not survive the madness , the morgue or many more midnights—life was ephemeral. Moses was black queerblack heroinblack faggotblack bad and black as midnight on a moonless sea so forgotten even the gods will sing. And there it could not be hidden. He would be discovered. It was a given. One of many. After Sean was gone Moses went out in the grey daylight street and stood soaked in the pouring rain.

Sean's hog purred with a growling sort of perfect perfection, eating blacktop, eating miles. He stopped only when he had to stop. He answered questions with answers that were not really answers. He moved. He was not stationary. California 139 winds its way north of Susanville toward towns with names like Adin, Lookout, Canby, Fall River Mills: towns no one had ever heard of. Towns no one had ever been to. Towns no one had ever seen. Smalltown mountain towns off the beaten path. Just being in such a place reminded Sean of his father. He had put up fence posts with his father then — just like the fence posts he was passing now — h-o-w many years ago? Sean had been trouble, then. Sean was trouble, now. He went back although he did not know why he was back. He had been impossible, then. He was impossible, now.

The Lookout, California high school is located just outside of town on the road to the Whitehorse Indian Reservation. Sean circled the school on his bike and stopped near the rear of the empty parking lot. Timewarp. He could hardly believe that he was here … this place. What was happening to the world w-h-y had he come three thousand miles to this empty place. Even though it was summer Sean could see his mountain breath. He kickstarted the Harley and drove through the empty midnight California village. The same place which years ago had branded him-renegade — the place which had set him free. The road which skirts the reservation itself turns to dirt three miles after you leave Lookout. Same shacks. Same white trash. Same sense of isolated depression. Same rusted cars in the same front yards. Sean was fairly sure that he knew he way to Jimmy Dog's and that Jimmy Dog would be there because where the fuck else was Jimmy Dog going to go?

It was before Vietnam. Before Moses. Before the trains. Before the now of now. It was before Sean had seen or tasted anything of the world. "And don't you forget me, Sean," Jimmy Dog had said. And Sean had forgotten this other—renegade—this man this first man who had taught him how to love and make love to other men. "You know where to find me if you need me," Jimmy Dog had said. He did not want Sean to go but Sean burned with a desire to see everything there was to see, to feel everything there was to feel, to ride his Harley ass bibleblack at bible fullmoon midnight. Sean enlisted. He shipped out to Vietnam and he saw everything there was to see, he felt everything there was to feel, and now he was back, older, broken, scarred, still a renegade, riding his Harley ass bibleblack at bible fullmoon midnight. Jimmy Dog answered the door in his underwear.

Jimmy Dog had seen Sean park the bike in the back in one of the sheds. Someone might see the bike and get suspicious. Jimmy

Dog was above suspicion and he intended to keep it that way. There was beer and story telling and back-slapping. There was laughter and old times and remember when we were busted that night for one fucking joint? More laughter. And how they'd kept us in jail until our fathers came to collect us only our fathers never did come to collect us. So eventually they just let us go. And remember how we used to go fishing where we'd sneak off skipping school sucking dick in the woods-fishing. More laughter.

"How bad is it," Jimmy Dog asked. "We hear the stories … " "Bad," Sean said. "I-I left someone … " There was a long silence between the past and the present. "Someone who could

That Sean needed to hide was a given. One of many. "Someone you loved." Jimmy Dog said.

"Yes." Just yes.

And they talked nonstop until the sun rose in the east and Sean passed out unconscious on the floor of his Indian brother. Jimmy Dog put a blanket over the man who had made such an unexpected appearance at his front door. He put a pillow under Sean's head and watched Sean sleep for what seemed like hours. It was a time of midnight visits and old friendships and old promises and old vows and old commitments and broken men. It was the time of living underground undetected. It was the time of fear and trains and being turned in by people who you thought cared but after all they cared about not being put onto a train themselves. It was a time of digging graves so many graves the earth seemed scarred and burned and twisted and cut the earth bled blood and the earth was bloody tired of humanity.

Sean stayed with Jimmy Dog undetected. He rarely left the small house. The Harley stood unused and stiff in the shed. Sean slept on the floor and dreamed of Nam and after Nam and Moses until the night he crawled into the bed of Jimmy Dog. Jimmy Dog, knowing it would only be a matter of time, it was only a matter of time until Sean made love to his Indian companion, the soul who had given him such committed refuge. The Indian raised his legs Sean mounted and fucked and fucked and fucked. Losing himself again. It was a time of great sorrow and great love and great passion and commitment. It was a time of fuck one man into another. The sound of slapping male flesh filled the room. The smell of one renegade giving himself to another filled their souls with lust and they laughed because they were still capable of laughing. Jimmy Dog sucked Sean's tongue down into his Indian throat and Sean shot and spermed and tried to scream. It was a time of great fucking fucking being all that was left to them. It was the time of midnight sounds of faggot trains in the raving distance.

Jimmy Dog went into town because it had been decided it was somewhat safe for Jimmy Dog to go into town. He rode the Harley because he wanted to ride the Harley. There was this midnight thrill to the feel of all that power between his Indian legs. Sean sat by the fire and waited for Jimmy Dog to return. Commitment. They caught Jimmy Dog as he was leaving the hardware store. Jimmy Dog fought back because it was the time of fighting back. But the fighting back in the final analysis was merely symbolic. The men who took him took him because taking him was their responsibility and such men take responsibility seriously they are responsible contributing members of the community and none of them were faggots.

Jimmy Dog said nothing to the man among the men who took him that this man's renegade son was hiding at the home of Jimmy Dog. Jimmy Dog would never see his home again. Jimmy Dog was a faggot and not only that but he was an Indian faggot.

He could not be hidden.

Sean sat by the fire until the fire went out. Commitment. It started to mountain rains and Sean felt a chill creep into his renegade soul. It was a time of much breathless midnight running. It was a time of war and love. When Sean realized in his renegade faggot bones that Jimmy Dog would not be coming back he went outside into the dirt road and stood soaked in the pouring rain.

TIES THAT BIND by GUY BALDWIN, M.S.

Sacred Cows Make the Best Hamburger

Much to the surprise of many who do not share our particular interests, we Sexual Frontiersmen do think about "A RELATIONSHIP" about as often as, say, the rest of our gay bretheren. Some people I know believe that leather men don't enter relationships as often as "vanilla" variety gay men. But I certainly have the impression that relationships and how to form them are on our minds a lot, especially in the face of AIDS.

It will be my intention in this space to share with you both my clinical and personal insights into some of the issues and problems that men pursuing the S / M lifetsyle or S / M sexualities encounter as we make our way into the relationships in which we become involved.

Currently, I am a licensed psychoterapist in private practice . Most of my reading, research , writing and public speaking has had S / M as its focus. In short, S / M has long since become an obsession for me. I consider myself, therefore, blessed. Fate might have chosen any number of boring preoccupations for me, but I was spared!

In my capacity as a therapist, I have spent some 10,000 hours talking with kinky gay men about a wide variety of issues, including their relationships . Naturally, during the course of so many hours of talk, patterns begin to reveal themselves . My hope is that in telling you what I have learned, you will look at your relationships with a fresh perspective, and perhaps come to a way of thinking about them that you may find more workable than before.

"Workable!" What the hell does he mean by that?

I mean, does it work for you or against you? Is it part of the solution or part of the problem? Does the relationship add to everyone's life or not? Is the screwing you're getting worth the screwing you're getting?

I had to laugh when Fleder-maus suggested I consider writing a column on relationships for Drummer; for years I've had a supressed desire to bomb their offices! Many of you readers have the experience and sophistication to know that Drummer has been primarily a fantasy magazine. But I know from my experience as a therapist that many readers of pornography have tried to pattern their relationships (and sometimes their lives) after the stories they have read, occasionally with disastrous results.

This happens most oiten among younger guys who have just stumbled across the scene and felt a deep resonance within themselves. In the course of trying to respond to these feelings, they soon come across Drummer and commonly report that it was like finding the Motherlode. That is, until they went out in search of _

Well, needless to say, most of these newcomers have some pretty unreal notions about who they want to marry. And for good reason. The role models in S / M fantasy stories, for both Tops and bottoms are more like icons than real people. They don't live real lives. For the most part, they populate worlds where no one works or gets sick or has parents or professional reputations to deal with; where no one has emotional hang-ups, fears, weaknesses or feelings of being trapped or insecure.

Young people in particular, but also large numbers of the not-so-young, need role models , of course. Role models somehow tell us how to be what it is we think we want to be. And for those just coming into the scene, the sight of men in leather can be so intimidating that newcomers often just plain don't talk to anyone. Mag-zines seem instantly more accessible and more controllable. They appear to offer the novice the kind of intimate, insider- type information that he craves in order to give form to those powerful feelings he has banging around in his head and shorts. (He's probably still wearing shorts at this point.)

Unfortunately, such a person is not always experienced e- nough (just in life, let alone the leather scene) to distinguish between probable fantasy and possible reality. These early feelings have a funny way of acting like a template or yardstick against which the validity of later feelings will be measured . I remember so well the experience of seeing my first Tom of Finland icons. I have never truly recovered at some level: some part of me compares all men with those internalized images … and with the predictable results. Stories can work the same way.

In fact, when it comes to role models for S / M relationships, the one-handed stories we read often do not even suggest that relationships are possible. Perhaps with the occasional exception of some Mister Benson -type stories that have appeared here in serial form, one could easily conclude that S / M relationships just don't happen. When I came out into the S / M- Leather scene (the earth was still cooling) it was a common saying that S / M relationships could not and did not last, S / M couples who had been together even a few years were spoken of in reverent and respectful terms.

As I began to meet couples who were in the S / M scene and was allowed to slowly learn about how their relationships REALLY functioned, I saw that they bore no resemblance to anything I had ever read about in the underground world of S / M publications. It turned out that, for the most part, what makes for good fantasy did not look much like anyone's reality.

The reason, of course, is that man does not live by fantasy alone. As it happens, man does not live by reality alone, either.

(continued from page 13)

Typically, the couples that report feeling good about their involvements are those in which the partners together have created a blending of fantasy and reality, or at least a way to ease the transition back and forth between the two.

By now I have counseled many couples who have struggled mightily in their efforts to achieve this blending of fantasy and reality in their lives. There are no models for how to do it except, perhaps, for those particular couples themselves. Since there are so very many ways to be involved in the S / M scene, there is therefore no one correct way to do it. But there are some ways that don't seem to work well as far as I can tell.

Couples (triples? quartets too!) in which anyone consistently tries to press the relationship into a fantasy mold that is not shared by the other partner (s) commonly experience troubles, which usually express themselves first somewhere in the sex.

When these people turn up in the therapy room, my usual diagnosis is "porn-itis." The condition is usually correctable unless there are widely variant values or attitudes about what the relationship should be. Quite often I discover that a partnership was formed and agreed upon before any such joint exploration of ideas and attitudes ever happened. Such exploration usually is not considered hot, you see. So it often doesn't happen until there's a problem.

A relationship has to be written by both Top and bottom as they get to know each other, not lifted out of some hot story. Tops are not mind readers. Some are frighteningly intuitive , but very few are psychic. Bottoms should not expect their minds to be read unless they come complete with an owner's manual. Few do. Many Tops also enjoy protecting the facade that they are mind readers , but they invite trouble when they do.

My point here is simply that no matter how valuable fantasy material is, from whatever source, it offers little of substance to a partnership in need of practical, day-to-day operational strategy.

I seem to recall in an article somewhere in which Fred Hal-sted , a Top, pointed out to readers that his bottom / lover of many years (Joey) took care of their auto maintenance, while Fred himself was better at doing the housework (or something like that). I remember being struck by the paradoxical beauty of their arrangement, and I doubt it was copied from any story they had either read or written. The flexibility to be real, and not be bound by stereotyped fiction, is a common theme in all the long-term relationships that I have been privileged to become acquainted with.

In fact, there is a lot to say for the slow, cards-on-the-table approach to building a relationship . It allows both Top and bottom to get down to a little reality before dabbling in the fantasy. Thus the blending process can start at the beginning of a relationship, and not be scrambled together when the fantasy founders on the rocks of reality.

And think about this: with our understanding of ritual, leathermen can have a lot more fun with the mating process than perhaps anyone on the planet! For instance, a Top who orchestrates a courtship can enable both himself and his bottom to become familiar with each other's needs, wants and points of view. Honesty is vital. Tops who dangle the promise of sex like a carrot can create sweet tension if they are sincere, but can damage their bottoms and their reputation if they are not.

A Top and a bottom who play their cards honestly can steadily gain each other's trust and friendship. And the kind of relationship , and the SEX, that can blossom in an open, trusting exchange can be exquisite. Honesty and reality will also protect the interests and feelings of both partners as they move in or out of that relationship .

Guy Baldwin, M.S., has a private practice in psychotherapy in Los Angeles, where he works primarily with those on the sexual frontiers. П

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PHILADELPHIA CENSORSHIP

Michael McGettigan reports in his DOWNSHOUTER column in the Philadelphia City Paper that Art Now / Gallery tand-I think.

Variety reports that Florida prosecutors are making use of the Racketeer-Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act to arrest people in obscenity cases. One couple who owned a video store in Cocoa Beach has been sentenced to serve 30 months of a ten-year sentence. State Attorney Norm Wolfinger has distributed letters indicating 31 obscene adult videos, based on previous court decisions . He said that was all he

Meanwhile in L.A., UPI says a distributor of explicit videos is being charged with violating obscenity laws by distributing videotapes which simulate sexual torture and degradation of women. The two tapes leading to the charges are "Dianna's Destiny" and "Abducted and Trained." gallery-goers with its just-the-facts style refused to publish a paid ad for Nexus gallery which contained a photograph by Daniel Perry. The photograph titled "Couple Showing Exotic Paraphernalia" from the showing listed as "SocioPhoto" was promptly returned by the Guide as unsuitable for publication. Carole Kabakow editor of the Guide finally admitted that "I feel it's violent and objectionable ." Most interesting, Kabakow said that Perry's photo was the first to be rejected , or even considered for rejection, in her five years at the Guide. Would she say that speaks for the power of the image in the photo? No. it's just one of those weak, objectionable photos, apparently.

The Nexus gallery substituted another Perry photograph , "Joan Crawford Look-Alike With Raw Meat," which shows a contest winner being presented with a box of steaks. This was accepted. I unders-

NOT SO GAY IN CHINA

Chinese records give hints of homosexuality as early as the Shang dynasty (1122 BC) according to The Economist. The chronicles of the Han dynasty, at the time of Christ, named emperors and their male favorites . By the time of the Norman conquest of Britain, male prostitution and public transvestism were commonplace in China. Respectable Hong Kong Chinese refuse to believe it. They see homosexuality as a western problem, and think the law protects innocent Chinese youths from promiscuous westerners.

In China itself, by contrast, there are no laws against homosexual acts; the Communist authorities think the question too small to worry about. The Communist authorities for decades proudly claimed to have eradicated prostitution in

China. In Canton they are now registering the prostitutes, both male and female, who officially do not exist.

POSTAL SERVICE RAN CHILD PORN STING

Chief Postal Inspector Clau-son and Attorney General Meese announced recently that Project Looking Glass, a Postal Service sting operation that sought to find purchasers of child pornography, had resulted in over 70 prosecutions, according to the report in the San Francisco Examiner. Postal inspectors sent out solicitations purporting to be from a foreign mail order firm to mailing lists identified in previous investigations , and sent catalogues to those who responded. 229 people sent in orders, and inspectors obtained court orders to search 170 locations in 38 states.

CANADIAN PORN LAW FEARED

A law proposed in Canada, bill C-54, is causing concern among writers, artists and film makers, Variety (Aug. 26) reported . Opponents claim the bill would force artists to show that their works have "artistic value. Members of the Committee for the Defense of Freedom of Expression, a Quebec-based group opposing the bill, say the bill has resulted from the focus on the Meese Commission in the United States. The bill defines pornographic acts, and sets penalties of 5-10 years in jail for violations. The group says that many of the most popular feature films could be banned under the proposed law. They are working to pressure Prime Minister Mulroney to withdraw the bill.

POSITION FILLED

University Hospitals in Cleve-land has received 1200 responses to its request for 40 volunteers to test a new drug, LY163502, that improves sexual desire. Fifteen other institutions are also testing the drug.

CONTROVERSY OVER S / M GROUP

The Chain Link reports that the Albuquerque, New Mexico group People Exchanging Power (PEP), a relatively young S / M group which incorporates Lesbians , Gay Men, and Heterosexuals in its membership, has created quite a stir in the gay community of Albuquerque. From their inception, they had been meeting in the local community center, Common Bond. According to the Common Bond Ink, the newsletter of this organization, the steering committee began last December to question the propriety of allowing this group to continue meeting in their facility. Some within the steering committee were opposed on the grounds that there were straight men in the group, while others seemed to object to the presence of SadoMasochists at all.

The latest response of Common Bond has been to schedule a citywide forum on the issue, where "proponents and opponents of S / M" could make brief presentations; the issue would then be opened for general discussion.

EROTIC '976' CALLS LOSE IN COURT

The U.S. Court of Appeals in San Francisco has ruled that phone companies need not allow businesses to set up erotic '976' services, the San Francisco Chronicle reported. In a 2-1 decision, the court found that Mountain Bell's ban of sexually-oriented phone message services was legal. The case derived from a challenge by two Phoenix, Arizona adult phone services to a Mountain Bell ban on erotic phone services . The court said that a private business, even where regulated by the government, may ban such message services , and that such a ban is not discriminatory or illegal. Pacific Bell and the Public Utilities Commission in California have yet to decide what policy to follow on adult phone services.

ARTIFICIAL SEXUAL ORGANS

A bill before the Illinois State Senate would outlaw the sale of dildos and artificial vaginas. The bill, up for final confirmation , follows majority approval by the House of Representatives (98 to 10). Prohibiting over-the-counter sale of "artificial sexual organs," the bill was created to stop adult bookstore business in the district represented by Rep. Linda William-son (R-Franklin Park) who claims seeing these discarded items in the store's parking lot and on neighboring lawns where children might find them. The owner of Male Hide Leathers, Robert Maddox, disagrees : "I think they are way off-base, not from a business standpoint, but from one of personal health. If a person wants stimulation, it is certainly safer to play with a piece of plastic than with another person ."

LION'S SHARE ARE EROTIC CALLS

Pacific Bell states that 62% of all charges and 50% of all calls for the special '976' billing numbers for July 1986 through May 1987 in California were for the erotic phone services, according to the San Francisco Examiner. The phone company collected $64.2 million for all '976' services, and of that $40.1 million was for erotic telephone calls, either live or recorded . After erotic calls, the highest revenue producer was the "party line" category, where people are connected to other callers for general talk.

There have been several moves by Pacific Bell and the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) to do away with the adult phone services. The Public Utilities Commission refused to permit Pacific Bell to regulate the content. Pacific Bell is also asking to drop the live calls because they require monitoring because of disruptive callers. The FCC had threatened or initiated prosecution against adult phone services which did not have a method to keep children from calling them, but no recent prosecutions seem to have occurred , and there seems to be no shortage of adult phone services at present.

AMNESTY INTERNATIONAL POLICY SHIFT

In a reversal of its past policies , Amnesty International is conducting a worldwide study on torture and imprisonment of homosexuals. The organization, long criticized for avoiding these issues, will use the study results in discussions of policy changes which could result in references to persons imprisoned for their sexual orientation or for advocating gay equality as "prisoners of conscience ." Reports of the study will be published at the next meeting of Amnesty in Brazil this October.

HARSH AIDS MEASURES FAVORED

A Los Angeles Times poll (Aug. 2) has found that 29% of Americans favor tattooing AIDS carriers, 42% favor voluntary testing, and 49% favor mandatory tests for those people at high risk. Further, 42% believe that some civil liberties must be suspended in the war on AIDS, Only 38% said no. 68% favor criminal sanctions against people with AIDS who continue to have sex.

A Gallup Poll (July 13) found that 52% of Americans favor testing of all American citizens for AIDS, 90% favor testing prospective immigrants, and 80% favor testing marriage license applicants. 43% of respondents said they are or plan to avoid suspected victims, 42% are avoiding elective surgery , 28% are avoiding public rest rooms, and 20% have or will stop donating blood in order to avoid contracting AIDS.

BIAFRA JURY DEADLOCKS

In the trial of Jello Biafra for distributing a poster thought "harmful" to children, the jury was split 7-5, and Los Angeles Municipal Court Judge Susan Isacoff ordered all charges dismissed in the case, The San Francisco Chronicle reported. This means the case will not be retried. Jurors indicated that they split along age lines, with a number of them being punk rock fans. Those jurors asked for copies of Biafra's Dead Ken-nedys album Frankenchrist.

The trial had included the testimony of art experts, who indicated that the poster in question, "Penis Landscape," dealt with the mechanization of sexuality and exploitation. and was not a turn-on. One witness, Professor Joan Wein-stein of the University of Pitts-burgh art history department indicated that the poster correlated with the lyrics to some of the songs on the record album. and together they dealt with social issues.

MISSISSIPPI LAW AND ORDER

Charles Graham and two others were assaulted by thugs armed with baseball bats outside of Graham's bar, Poppers -the only gay bar in Meri-dien , MS. The response of the local law authorities was to charge one assailant with simple assault and release him on $522 bond.

Police Chief Walter Tucker had a novel solution to Graham's problems. He suggested that Graham close down Poppers and move out of town. Graham did close the bar, but he plans on opening another one just outside the city limits. United Press International reports "several of the residents have called to tell me how happy they are," says the gendarme.

CREATIVE ACTION AGAINST AIDS

Virtually anyone, whatever their skills or available time, can do something to help in the fight against AIDS.

That's the premise of a new booklet, being prepared as a non-profit, cooperative effort by a number of publishers and writers. The booklet, titled You CAN Do Something About AIDS, will be widely distributed next spring, free of charge.

"I think huge numbers of people in middle America, including many who a few years ago didn't know what AIDS was, are now eager to do something about it," says Sasha Aly-son . His company, Alyson Publications , is coordinating the all-volunteer effort.

"Unfortunately, most of those people assume there's nothing they can do. The point of this booklet is to give them some ideas, to get them started, to encourage them to think creatively about the options open to them."

The booklet will emphasize the wide range of ways that people can help fight AIDS. There are a lot of ideas already. but more are needed. Be creative in exploring the many steps, big and small, that individuals around the country can take. Suggestions? Write to: Alyson Publications, 40 Plymp-ton St., Boston, Mass. 02118

by DALE REES he shackles gripped me tightly in their lover's embrace and though I faced the stark reality that my efforts were useless, I strained toward freedom. As a prisoner within the confines of the Jedid's castle, I felt the fate which had been that of my companions must surely be mine-though I could only wonder why I alone had been spared.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the damp stones beyond the faint flickering of a single candle. A shape formed out of the darkness. Dressed as he was in a leather jerkin and leggings, I took him to be another of the warriors who had taken me captive. Then his eyes met mine. They fixed themselves solidly, refusing to loosen their rigid grip. It was one of the few times that I claim to have felt fear. "You are comfortable?" he asked. The words fell sarcastically and flatly. He was well over six feet in height and his great black mane hung loosely over broad shoulders. It was the Jedid.

"I will see your blood coat the stones over which you walk," I answered sharply.

"Strong words from one who hangs chained to the wall." He paused. "What is your name, boy?"

I had at first thought not to answer his questioning, but even then I was aware of his compelling power to pull whatever he wished to the surface. His hard muscled arms reached out. Wide hands moved upward along my bare sides. The fingers spread themselves across my flesh. They moved slowly, as though testing my body's firmness.

"Alae." The answer was dragged from me.

"Alae, the sight of you pleases me."

"I am owned by no man."

"Too much spirit will make it hard for you." His hand continued its journey across my chest, stopping to twist one of my nipples. Pain slithered through me like a serpent long dormant and now ravenous. Raw, physical power issued from his presence—this was not some overly-confident tyrant who thought the world ended and began with him. Even in distant Soundas we had heard of him, though he had seemed more shadowy legend than reality. "The guards will come to lower your chains, then you may rest. Tomorrow you will be brought to me." He turned and faded back into the darkness.

Later, as I lay on a pile of foul-smelling straw, my thoughts lingered on the events which had led me to that damnable place.

Dry yellow grass crumbled beneath our feet as we entered the plain of Kelven. Behind us, like a ragged beggar unable to continue the march, lay the Wordal Mountains. We had left the coastal city of Dara five days earlier and were on our way back to Soundas when the warriors attacked. We did not heard their muffled movements until it was too late. Of the thirty men in our party, I alone live to tell of the butchery that took place. The Jedid's

men out-numbered us three-to-one and it was obvious from the start that we could not hope to maneuver against such odds. Sunlight flashed on our weapons as we slashed with hopeless courage against their forces. Thunderous cries of victory rose finally as we finally fell beneath the sharp blades of the attackers. But my heart gladdened at the thought that we were able to see their blood run brightly upon our swords before defeat—a soldier must make account to his gods.

I was taken captive, bound in chains, and forced to witness the succeeding carnage. The ambushers' laughter drowned the piteous cries of their victims. Hard, heated cocks tore unmercifully between stretched-out legs; men were castrated while still alive, and I hazily remember my childhood friend, Tubar, screaming in anguish-his limbs tied to stallions as he was dragged apart by their frantic hooves. With their throats slit, the bodies lay like wind-tossed debris, meat left for the scavenging jackals. Atop a nearby hillock stood a dark figure, his face dimly shrouded beneath a hood. He watched unmoved as the carnage progressed, and I saw him still there as I, revolted and horrified, was dragged from the scene.

Now the Jedid wanted me. There would be no tenderness in this man. He took what he wanted.

Slowly a light sleep came over me and I was lost to a more peaceful world.

"Wake up, dog."

A sharp pain lanced through my side.

I watched in silence as one of the guards unlocked the chains that bound my feet, leaving the shackles on my wrists. The first guard pulled me roughly to my feet.

"Bran," the other guard said, "if you damage him the Master will be angry."

"He's a savage, and worth nothing except sport, as were the others."

"That has been taken out of our hands." He turned to me. "Come, the Master does not like to be kept waiting."

"Where are you taking me?"

The guard who had kicked me brought his hand swiftly through the air, striking my face. "Slaves do not ask questions."

I stiffened, my bound arms useless. I was left with no choice but to follow them up the rough hewn steps and out into the gray light of dawn. As we crossed a large courtyard, I noticed the goods we had traded for in Dara lay scattered about. We passed under a high stone arch carved with figures of men in chains bound in various positions, their tortured expressions clearly captured by the sculptor. The guards stopped abruptly. "Annu, wait here with this pig from the dung pits. I will speak with the Master."

Just as Bran turned out of sight, I heard the first of several screams; screams which threatened to burrow beneath my skin and affix themselves permanently. Annu seemed not to notice the horrid sounds.

"Bran does not seem to like you," Annu said, "but that is to be expected. You will do well to watch yourself."

"I do not fear him."

A queer look came over his face. "The Master desires you. Beyond that, do not trust too far."

It seemed this man was different from the other. The hatred that ran through Bran did not seem to eb in Annu, but could he be trusted? There were so many questions I needed to ask. Would he answer? "You are not like Bran."

He lost what faint smile he had attempted. "The Master wants you, as I have said. Do not forget your position within these walls depends upon that single fact."

His words only made me wonder more. I thought again of the man who had visited me the previous night. Like a solid shadow he had stepped from beyond the darkness. I was about to speak when Bran returned.

"You are to be taken to the baths."

I was led to a large pool of green and black marble. The water within the bowl shimmered in the rays of the awakening sun. Bran had been right about one thing: I did smell like the dung pits. Now, however, the water's warmth soothed my limbs as I washed with the soap given me. The soap had a strange, not quite flowery fragrance that reminded me of the plains' grasses. I thought of the low, rolling, pale golden hills which surround Soundas. Like a chain reaction other thoughts passed through my mind. I thought of Ledlan, my lover, and his face as he waved upon our leaving for Dara. Would I ever see him again? I wondered if he would hear of the slaughter and think me dead, also.

"Alae!" The voice startled me. It was the Jedid. "A slave does not take liberties with the few moments given him.

I looked at the man who stood on the edge of the pool. In the light of day he did not seem so fearsome. What I had sensed in the beginning was still there, yet the natural light gave him a look of realism I would not have suspected. A loose cloak was draped over his shoulders; the thick arms exposed, the veins standing out as if carved in stone. I wondered for a moment if this were, indeed, the same man I had seen before. His face, hard featured, was handsome. Then some attraction drew my attention to his lean waist. I saw the knife which hung from his belt. It was the one with the silver handle Ledlan had given me before the journey. This man dared wear what was given in love!

'Your eyes question." He moved across the stones toward a bench draped in red silk. "Come, your bath is finished, Later, when I say, you will bed dressed. Until then, the sun will dry your silken skin, slave."

I felt embarrassment at having to parade in such a manner before the guards. "I would prefer my own clothing."

"Your preferences matter not to me."

I approached him.

"You will sit at my feet."

Did he think I was a lap dog to do as he commanded?

He rose. "You're not in your own home, boy. The walls around us are my possession." His hand moved to my chest. And extended finger traced the narrow path of light hair down my stomach to where it spread and darkened at the crotch. "Regardless of past freedoms, you are now my possession also." His green eyes looked steadily into mine. He brought his hand up, then dropped it swiftly, striking my face.

I staggered at the impact. Righting myself, I lunged at him. Instantly, the guards were upon me.

"Take him to the Accur," he ordered.

"Now, little swine," Brand whispered in my ear, "you will taste of the Master's delights."

I was dragged into another open yard. In the center of the space stood two heavy wooden posts. "Chain him!"

A collar of iron was placed about my neck. A chain ran from a ring on each side of the collar to the posts. Once my neck was secure, my hands were chained high above me.

The Jedid faced me squarely. "You will hang here until I command otherwise. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, Master!" The force of the Jedid's blow brought tears to my eyes.

"Yes, Master."

I was left alone. No sound came on the faint breeze which rose as the morning turned into afternoon, then into deepening night. My arms felt as though they would pull from their sockets. The iron about my wrists tore at the skin. My weakening legs refused to support my body any longer. My throat ached for moisture. I wanted to cry out—to shout for the guards to take me down. The night grew blacker. It passed into dawn as I watched the stars move across the sky.

From behind me a voice spoke softly. "It is my wish you be taken down." Though I could not see him, I knew it was the

I was taken back to my cell in the dungeon. For several days I saw only the guard who brought my food. I was left alone with my thoughts. It seemed my captor wished me to think well on my actions

Finally the Jedid visited me. I was sleeping when the sound of a closing door awakened me.

His form was a dark cloud which left me without shadow. "You

have had ample time to ponder your actions at the bath. Have you learned from these past days alone?"

My skin was still burnt from the full day's exposure to the sun. and my jaw still throbbed from the force of his hand. I had not forgotten why. "You have had your justice."

'I did not seek justice. Had that been my motive, you would be lying on that field with your friends."

Until now I had not actually thought of why his men were ordered to attack our party. It seemed as though it was simply for our goods.

"Why am I not there?"

"Revenge was the motive behind the attack. Before you were a spark of lust in your father's eye, he ordered a raid on our village. I was a child. Most of that village was slaughtered. Though I was young, I remember well his warriors running through our village taking the women, butchering innocent children. I swore revenge that day and revenge I will have!"

"I do not understand. My father has been dead many years.

Why am I here?"

"Because ghosts make unsatisfactory subjects for torture."

The reasoning behind his motives slammed into my brain. But I still did not understand why he had not ordered me killed.

"Why have you waited so long for revenge?"

"In Soundas, I was not able to seek him out, but my spies watched and kept me informed. When I heard of your birth I knew some day you would be mine." Squatting, his fingers brushed my leg. "I did not know then what a fine piece of flesh you would turn into,"

"Is that why I'm alive—to be something for your games?"

"You will learn that such games are enjoyed by both sides!" He reached for me. I shrank from his touch. His face hardened. He rose and left without saying a word.

The next few days passed as slowly as the others. Then I was brought up from the dungeon. I was taken back to the Accur, and again I was hung from the posts. I wondered if my punishment would be the same as before. But this time, the Jedid did not leave. He stood in silence for some time, simply watching. Then he began to disrobe. Once he was completely stripped, he turned to the guards, speaking softly. They left.

He walked toward me, a half-smile on his handsome face. From one of the posts he lifted a whip, the presence of which I had failed to notice. The whip snaked along the ground as he pointed it downward. He brought it up with a sharp snap. No one had ever used such a thing on me. Though we did not own slaves in Soundas, I had seen what the bite of a whip would do to a man's skin.

He pressed the handle against my groin and pushed. Pain exploded through me. His hand cupped my balls. Slowly, with ever-increasing pressure, he squeezed. Tighter he forced the tender orbs between his fingers. Writhing, I clenched my teeth, refusing to scream.

"We will see," he said. It was then that I saw the guards returning. Between them they carried a small chest. They placed it before me. He turned to face them. "You know when to return."

"Yes, Master," their voices sounded in unison.

When they were gone he dropped the whip and opened the chest. I watched him move. It seemed there was no portion of his body that did not contain layer upon layer of muscle. His chest rose and fell before me as he stood upright. Thick black hair covered the dark skin of his upper torso. His rigid cock thrust itself toward me

"How much do you think you can take, Alae?" It was only the third time he had said my name. I did not like the way it rolled off his tongue.

In his hand he held a thick leather thong. He began to wind it around my growing shaft. I found the roughness of his handling exciting. Confusion flooded my mind. I hated this man. I knew why he did this and what he wanted from me. But there was also the awareness of his commanding physical presence. The thong

completely engulfed my cock. He bound it tightly, allowing the ends to hang free, then returned to the chest. From within those secret confines he pulled a large weight. This he fastened to the loose ends of the thongs and dropped it. My cock was jerked violently downward from the head. It strained against the weight. Fully hard now, my stiff pole pressed into my balls.

"My touch excites you, slave." My head was jerked back by the hair. I faced the full force of the sun; its light burned my eyes. He pressed his lips against mine. His tongue forced itself into my mouth. As I opened my mouth to allow its passage, his tongue fucked my throat.

He backed away. From the swollen head of his manhood dropped a milky stream. He picked up the whip and moved behind me. I sensed what would follow—the whip would slice into my skin, attack my senses, rip them to shreds, leave them scattered.

He raised the whip. I felt it flick the back of my leg. Would he begin there and slowly work his way up? The next blow did not touch me. Had he missed completely? Time after time, the leather bit blank air. Closer it came; still it refused contact. Then it dug into my back. I felt blood. The next strike touched the nape of my neck. Was he playing a guessing game? Was I to wonder where the next blow would fall? I found I wanted its touch. I wanted to feel the sting of leather against my skin. He worked the whip with the precision of the Master that he was. It cracked against my ass. Again and again, its stinging length found my flesh. My arms reached toward the cloudless sky as beneath that vault of deep blue the Jedid used the whip to seek out those desires he knew lay buried. The collar about my neck, the roughness, all served as links in the chain he was forging which would bind me to him. The whip cut into the tight muscles of my ass.

My cock exploded. All of my pent up desires were released with that touch of leather. Pain worse than any the whip could inflict pounded into me. The tightly bound thong served as a dam against the flood. Only small spurts of cum were allowed to drip onto the ground. The whip continued to find its target. Each one different. Then it stopped.

I hung waiting for long moments. Had he lost interest in the game? I craved the contact with him the braided strip gave.

The whip sliced the tense air! My body jerked with each blow. I felt myself nearing the boundary between pleasure and pain. I crossed over. There was no longer the feeling of intoxication, but of terror. Pain burst within me in a hundred places. I screamed. My lungs emptied themselves. He dropped the whip. He had won!

I felt his cock press into the curve of my bloodied ass. His hands gripped my sides. With a single violent thrust he buried himself. His hips slammed into me. My head was again pulled back. My neck strained. "Scream!" he commanded. "I want to hear you beg! Beg me to empty myself into you." His hips pounded harder against me. "Beg!" His cock seemed to grow inside me. It tore at my fuck passage with an ecstasy I had never before experienced. "Yes, Master! Yes! Fill my ass with your cum. Let me feel it wash over my insides." Is lammed my ass back to meet the push of his strong thighs. He released my head and sank his teeth into my neck. I felt him empty himself into my bowels. He flooded my insides. His hops hammered against mine. He slowed, then stopped. His chest pushed against my back with heavy breathing. Thick, milky drops of cum followed his cock as he pulled himself free.

I hung from the chains lifelessly, all energy drained. He had brought from within me those desires he had wished. I was his slave; his to command. There would be nothing I would not do if he so ordered.

"One day, slave, you may prove worthy." He turned without looking back and left the yard.

I am still learning. The Master is good to me, and I try to please him. I later discovered that Bran had been his favorite before me. But Bran is weak. I do not intend to allow anyone to take my place.

ST

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Just Say No - To Censorship

Adolf Hitler was named chancellor of Germany on January 30, 1933, and he lost no time establishing his Thousand Year Reich. On May 6, a Nazi campaign against "the un-German spirit" was announced, and the first target was the Institute of Sexual Science, described as "an unparalleled breeding ground of dirt and filth." The Institute was, in fact, respected world-wide for sexual research, and was a leading force for sexual reform and enlightenment . The founder and head of the Institute was Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld, a gay Jewish sexologist who was allied to the democratic left. Nazi gangs ransacked the Institute library and on May 10 these materials were thrown on a bonfire, along with a bronze bust of Hirschfeld.

James D. Steakley documents this most infamous of the Nazi book-burnings in his book The Homosexual Emancipation Movement in Ger-many , and he writes, "One week later, Hirschfeld had the unusual sensation of seeing all this in a newsreel shown in a Paris cinema; he wrote that it was like watching his own funeral ." Hirschfeld died in 1935. The Nazis who had come to power burning books went on to starve, shoot, gas and burn Jews, Jehovah's Witnesses, political opponents, gypsies, mental patients and thousands of gay people who wore pink triangles on their concentration camp uniforms.

Censorship may be imposed by force, but it always shows a certain weakness on the part of the censors, because they fear that their own ideas and values won't prevail through free speech and democracy. It is this fear and weakness which moves the Sandanistas to shut down the opposition forces in Nicaragua and which moves Ollie North and his conspirators to run the shredding machines late into the night in Washington . Fear and weakness moves fundamentalists to throw books and records on bonfires and to censor science textbooks in public schools. Fear and weakness produces Attorney General Meese's Commission on Pornography, chaired by an anti-vice prosecutor.

That commission played fast and loose with the actual facts and economics of the sex and pornography industries, and it proposed vague and dangerous defintions of "degrading" and "violent" pornography. Writing in The Nation in August of last year, Carole Vance noted, "The commission called no witnesses to discuss the nature of S&M, either professional experts or typical participants. They ignored a small but increasing body of literature that documents important features of S&M sexual behavior, namely consent and safety." She added, "Its recommendation to target 'violent' and 'degrading' material will be variously interpreted in different localities … However, the target in most jurisdictions will probably be

S&M images and lesbian and gay images."

Sure enough, the tug-of-war between censorship and the First Amendment continues in local skirmishes around the country. On national TV news, a Federal "sting operation" was recently reported against makers , distributors and even collectors of so-called "kiddy porn." Age of consent laws vary from state to state and it cannot be assumed that youngsters do not have minds of their own, as well as sexual and economic needs of their own. When exploitation and coercion is, in fact, involved in the production of pornography, then by all means prosecute. But who will defend the sexual and economic rights of the young? Certainly not Attorney General Meese. And the far right's idea of sex education can be summed up in the same slogan it uses against the use of drugs: "Just Say No."

The American Civil Liberties

Union has already criticized the Federal agents involved in this sting operation for entrapping collectors of pornography by placing advertisements which were then used to gather names and lead to arrests. Like the stranger offering candy in the playground, these guardians of morality have their own bait. Indeed, the government claims it is merely seducing the seducers. The government is choosing to target people whom it hopes the great majority will regard as a caste of Untouchables : collectors of "kiddy porn" and "child molesters." In this case, I insist on placing those words in quotes, because they are frequently used in dishonest and damaging ways.

At the age of fifteen I seduced a teacher over twice my age, a married man and the father of seven kids, much respected in the school and the community. If some meddling vice-cop or FBI agent had brought our affair out of the closet, it might have ended with my older partner in jail and myself in a reformatory - where kids are known to rape each other. In fact, our affair ended as it began: in secrecy, but with consent, pleasure and respect. The sexuality of youth is a complex topic and truly deserves the most open exchange of views. But here again we face the spectre of censorship .

In 1978, Canada's excellent gay liberation magazine, The Body Politic, published an article titled "Men Loving Boys Loving Men." Anita Bryant had begun her crusade to "Save Our Children" from homosexuals the year before and Canada had its own home-grown anti-gay crusaders. But Canada had no First Amendment protecting freedom of expression, nor quite the history of rowdy free speech rights we've had in the United States. Consequently , police raided the publication's offices, confiscated materials which it never returned and The Body Politic proceeded to fight for free speech in

several battles in court. They won at last, supported by artists , writers and civil libertarians from around the world.

In Philadelphia, where I live, a gay bookstore received bomb threats and had windows smashed when a pamphlet it sold describing sex between youths and adults was passed on to a politican, who in turn urged that the pamphlet should be officially banned. During special hearings at City Hall, this academic pamphlet - written by a former sex researcher at the Kinsey Institute — was decsribed as "child pornography ." Wearing a T-shirt saying "I READ BANNED BOOKS," I testified against censorship at these hearings, but the politicians were too busy performing to care about the First Amendment . The gay bookstore, in any case, was too intimidated to fight out the case in court.

The only way to counteract free speech we may not like is to speak up freely ourselves. In 1979, I joined in street protests against the movie director William Friedkin and his film crew who were shooting the movie Cruising in New York's West Village.

An early shooting script had been leaked to the gay community , and after I had read the truly twisted plot, I blew my whistle and chanted slogans with hundreds of men and wo-men who were equally outraged . Since the streets belonged quite rightly to the people, we made Friedkin's movie scenery that much more lively while at the same time driving up his production costs. The original script gave a one-dimensional picture of the leather and S / M scene, reducing it to pathology and murder . In its final form, the film looks a bit more benign, due in part to those very protests.

But even then I had reservations and questions about our action. Most of the extras in the film were leatherguys who had been recruited from the bars without really knowing the story of the film. At the same time, some of the protesters were feminists of the kind who support outright censorship of all pornography, and others who were simply afraid that S / M would tarnish an All-Am- erican gay public image. Writing about the protests in The Body Politic at that time, I asked, "Did we feel betrayed by these men being in leather in the film or did we feel betrayed by them being in leather at all?" As one of the protest organizers , I was asked by certain feminists to condemn S / M along with the movie, and I refused. I would have been happiest to see leatherfolk making a serious feature film about their own lives - but how many folks have the resources of Hollywood? Free speech can cost plenty.

At that time I never dreamed I'd be a leatherguy myself one day. But I did suspect that I would part company with some of those protesters. Certain feminists even then were already following the path of censorship and in recent years have gone so far in that direction that they have formed unholy alliances with far-right religious and political forces. Feminists Andres Dworkin and Catherine MacKinnon have joined right-wingers in trying to ban pronography as "a violation of women's civil rights." Such an ordinanace even passed a vote of city officials in Minneapolis twice in 1984, but was twice vetoed by the mayor.

If the day comes when the government raids my home, I'll be in big trouble. They'll not only find Thomas Paine and Karl Marx on my bookshelves, but also photos of Cord Briggs and Rocco de Vega in bondage. Hell, they'll find my ass on the cover of Drummer! Paul Goodman wrote, "If you can think it, you can write it; if you can write it, you can publish it." That is the ideal I follow, even when some things I see and read in these very pages give me pause. When I saw photos in Drummer of a guy who had the racist slogan "WHITE POWER" tattooed on his arms, I was somewhat stunned. But it made me think: of what kind of guy he might be, of what turns people on, and finally of freedom. Because the bottom line is that I want to know what is on a person's mind, especially if he makes his own skin an open book. Did such photographs deserve publication? Absolutely.

Just say no to censorship.

Photos by Jim Wigler

Eyes … brown and bright, staring directly at you … Daring? Challenging? Inviting? Rough stubble on his chin and cheek, hairy arms and chest. That shining black leather jacket! Thin black leather stretched over his fists. Fists! Fists for pounding, for punching , for caressing. Eyes … Daring … Challenging …

Inviting. Flip Side: Tight hairy buns topped by acres of black leather. Buns inviting. Inviting a tongue to probe the crack, lapping up the mansweat. Inviting a hand to caress the skin, to massage the muscles … slapping again and again until the imprint of each finger is vivid red on white.

Flip Side: Eyes again, staring directly at you, squinting slightly at the curl of smoke from his cigarette … or hidden behind dark glasses … But now the meaning is clear. You will serve … On your knees before him, the strap in his hand tells you-you will suffer for him. Leather gloved hands cup his large balls and command you to take them … Your nose savors the aroma of his sweaty crotch as your tongue hungrily pulls his balls into your mouth … Black leather gloves grip the back of your head as he drops the length of strap over your bare back and ass, teasing …

LOF

H N P U 12 D E

1988

A R C N D E A L

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TOUGH SHIT

A DIVINE DUTY?

During the course of the Fol-som St. Fair in San Francisco, several strangely dressed persons were selling "Pope-A-Lack-Dick " with staples through the condom, Pope on a Rope, Pin the Tail on the Pontiff, Thou Shalt Noughats, Christ on a Croissant, St. Veronica's Can- onized Paper Towels, and Pope Puddles (Holy Water) to the crowd of festive fair goers. Their literature asks that you send any original sins, queries, and donations with a S.A.S.E. to: Divine Dutiful Daughters Order of Dymphna, (3D.O.D.), 241 Clara St., Cell C, San Francisco , CA 94103.

AS LONG AS IT'S TASTEFUL

A male Canadian WardAir flight attendant has recently won the "right" to wear an earring while on duty. Robert Elder's employer claimed passengers might presume thereby that he is gay and "associate him with AIDS." His union had information to the contrary, that passengers responded positively to the earring and that WardAir was restricting Elder's personal freedom unreasonably.

It sounds as if the airline's customers deserve a bit more credit-if not for their fashion sense, then for their savvy according to Stephen M. Perkins of Frontiers magazine.

USEFUL INFORMATION

As a result of the AIDS scare, according to Clinica, the con-dom manufactured by Radia-tex , is distributed free to patients in Petersborough (UK) who practice anal intercourse. Known as the Red Stripe, it is longer and thicker than most condoms and has no teat. Its thickness is between 60-80 microns.

USELESS INFORMATION

In France only 7% of the sexually active population use condoms, as compared to 37% in the UK and 68% in Japan. Or so says the Journal Of Irreproducible Results.

BEER BELLIED BEAUTIES

A Yankee anthropologist, Steve Barnett discovered the southern love of beer bellies when he videotaped rotund rebels trying on clothing and caught them preening their paunches in private. According to the article in Magna, a fashion magazine for big and tall men, Barnett, a consultant with a New York market research firm called Planmetrics, "felt if you looked at how they tried clothes on, you'd find out what's important to them. We discovered people were quite proud of having grown that belly."

Barnett was conducting a survey of consumer buying patterns for a department store client when he made his mind-boggling belly breakthrough . The department store wanted to know which types of leisure jackets their customers selected most often and what seemed to motivate them in their choice.

"If you asked men which kind of jacket they liked, they'd tell us - but what they said didn't resemble the buying pattern ," Barnett reported. "So we used a video camera in a trying on area to watch what they did in order to show us what they really like."

"We found that a man with a paunch would select a jacket that went to the waist, and zip it up to just over the belly. If the jacket was tight, he tended to like it. But if it was too loose and covered up his belly he'd reject it."

"In the South, it seems that the acceptable male figure has a belly, especially over the age of 30. It doesn't seem to inhibit the ability to attract women." (Or men either!)

YEA! BUT WHICH PART IS WHICH

In case you have not seen the futuristic movie, ROBOCOP, you should but one of the turn-ons in the movie is not the basket shown in this ad.

GOLDEN SHOWERS OF PROTEIN

According to City Paper of Washington, D.C., one man's urine is now another man's treasure. While researchers all over the world have rushed to develop ways to synthetically produce human proteins, the scientists at Michigan-based Enzymes of America (EOA) have begun tapping into outhouse urine to salvage some of the 40,000 different proteins that are normally flushed into oblivion. EOA separates the proteins from one another and then sells them to pharmaceutical companies.

EOA was not the first company to collect proteins from urine. As long as 20 years ago, Italy's Serono Laboratories processed 200 tons of urine each week for the fertility hormone pergonal. Serono collected ur- ine from a group of Italian nuns. A Serono spokesman says the nuns were "ecstatic to be involved ," … The spokesman said they also provided high-grade samples because they didn't drink, smoke, or get cervical cancer.

A healthy person's urine is sterile-native Alaskan Aleuts wash their newborns with human urine-yet if a person is sick, infecting agents can pass through the kidney's filters and into the urine. Prose says EOA has tested samples for bacteria, the AIDS virus, and other pathogens , but its researchers found "absolutely no evidence" of possible contamination in the final protein product. Since EOA does not actually produce pharmaceuticals, its products do not fall under the federal Food and Drug Administration's regulations.

HAS THE A.U.A. BEEN HERE?

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PAGE 35

"I will show you how we deal with traitors."

Automatically, his hand moved toward his crotch. His jogging shorts were wet at the point where his piss slit had leaked its juices onto the sweaty cotton fabric.

"Let us see how the Mighty One takes the sting of the whip." David's mouth went dry. He released his swollen dick from its protective covering. Without thinking, he took its thick flesh in hand and began the up and down movements that would soon release its pent-up juices. The words coming from the screen became garbled as he watched the hooded figure lay stroke after stroke on the back of the tightly bound gladiator. Part of his brain felt shame as he saw himself masturbating to the image of the now-cringing body builder. Another part of his brain began to absorb the words and laugh as he watched the actors move their mouths out of sync with the dubbed-in dialogue. But still another part of his brain sat watching is ecstasy as he imagined himself in the gladiator's place, his body being tortured with each lashing, his mind overflowing with a combination of pain and pleasure. Like poor Demetrius, he didn't know why he was being whipped. He hadn't done anything wrong. But unlike the pumped-up giant, he knew that for himself, the act of being whipped was right and yes, well deserved.

"Behold, Demetrius. See where your disobedience has gotten vou."

David moved his eyes back to the screen. Thick white gobs of cream lay across the heavy glass picture tube, their cloud-like patterns misting over the image of the supplicated giant. David watched the welts on the man's sweat drenched back. He knew the dripping blood was makeup, but the knowledge didn't prevent him from becoming aroused once again. With one hand quickly wiping off the cum-stained television screen, he rewound the video tape, well aware that the sight of Demetrius the Gladiator being whipped was bound to release another steaming load

For David, sex is not enough. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, sex and punishment combined to form a single whole that defies analysis. He's not alone. Somewhere within the world of sexual sub-groups, there are thousands of Davids, all dreaming about the images conjured up by a cat-of-nine-tails, or a coiled leather whip resting at a cowboy's hip. For many, the identification with instruments of torture began the day they first found out that too often love came in the form of a firm hand on a bare buttock. But for others, the affinity came through nights spent in the darkened corners of back room bars, listening to the whinings of enslaved males as they felt their masters' hands tearing across their faces repeatedly.

In a culture that prides itself on its righteousness, brutality —especially the willingly inflicted or received kind—threatens the balance of mind over mindlessness. But when the mind and body crave more, ordinary definitions of love become meaningless and the notion of giving a partner what he craves the most becomes the new definition. Can whipping be an act of love? Can torture be the measure of a relationship? Is the bridge between sanity and sadism such a shaky one, or is it held up with the belief that punishment can hold up the flimsiest relationship? In the minds of the interested, the answers are automatically unders- tood.

For David, there's never even been a question. Not since his father first stood over him, switch in hand, his crotch bulging with the erotic notion of punishing his own son. Their eyes met for a moment, and in that sudden flash of recognition, both knew that what they were playing out was an elaborate game, with each one on the receiving end of some much-needed physical and mental stimulation. Abuse never came into question. As he lowered his pants and doubled his pre-pubescent body over his father's knee, David knew that the way his cock grew to its full boyish size was no accident. Even as he stood in front of the man, his ass cheeks red with the repeated lashings of the switch, David knew that sooner or later he would be doing something very bad. Something very bad.

"The problem with you, David, is that you equate love with physical punishment. It's a classic case. Young boys push the limits further and further, hoping that sooner or later they'll be caught doing something wrong. For many youths, it's the only way they ever get attention. Sad, isn't it, that so many boys have to get their faces slapped in order to get some attention from their fathers."

Sad. For the psychiatrists, at least. But for the boy whose waking dreams revolve around Hollywood images, the sadness comes when those screen images don't match up with the ones filling their everyday lines of vision. And what about the others? The ones who wield the whips? The latter-day de Sades, dreaming of 120 days in Sodom? Where do their yearnings come from?

"The need to compensate for a lack of control during their early formative years of childhood. The child, deprived of some or all ability to make decisions for itself during various stages of development, compensates by later forming a framework in which he or she is in control of situations at all times. Anger, however, often manifests itself in the form of a need to punish others for the controls inflicted on the child by its parent. Still a child in many way, he or she lashes out at the world around it. Sometimes figuratively. Sometimes literally."

Oh yeah. Let's hear it for lashing out. Let's hear it for the boys who beat. Boys like Roy. Big boys. With equally big clubs resting between their legs. The legs hidden in turn under layers of sweating leather. In the world of the whippers and the wimps, attitude is everything. What good is being brutalized if the beating doesn't conjure up images of hog-tied cowboys sweating under the Arizona sun? Or Amazon explorers staked to the ground as a cauldron of water is slowly brought to the boiling point? Roy knows all the frames of reference. All the ways to being a man to his knees. And when all else fails, he can always expose his hairy chest and beat a man into submission with his sweat drenched body.

For David, that has always been enough. Ever since his father first exposed himself in the shower, the sight of hair nestled between two half-hidden nipples has always been enough. With his head no higher than crotch level, the little boy watched in fascination as his daddy's dick swung itself freely under the steady pulsations of the water jet. The slap of towel on baby butt cheeks was enough to seal the fate. Swinging cock and matted hair became one with the sting of cloth on bare ass. And in the world of darkened backrooms, David sought out the image over and over again. Until Roy came along and resolved the longing once and for all.

The spunk had hardly dried on the picture tube before David felt the need rise up again inside his body. Not even the simple act of cumming could relieve the dull ache of want that moved downward from the brain and held the body captive. Even with the tape rewound and ready to play itself out once again, David knew the fantasy was a poor substitute for what his body so desperately needed. No image, no matter how hot, would replace the sting of a whip across his bare butt. Or the slap of a hand across his face as he was forced to take imagined punishments in very real blows to his stubbled cheeks. No, Demetrius would have to wait for another night's showing. As he stuffed his legs into the deliberately torn jeans David knew that the gladiator inside him had done something very wicked. And like the wicked boy he was, David knew that he would not be able to escape the inevitable punishment. All that remained was to find the ways and the means to beat the dickens out of him. And the man to do it.

Fortunately, with his hot looks and equally hot willingness to take his punishment like a man, finding a willing daddy was the easy part. All he had to do was look around the bar and spot the man lurking in one of its darkened corners. Roy knew he was being watched. He was used to it. He also knew that the other man watching him was a bottom. That too was expected. Even as David moved over to where he stood, arms akimbo, Roy knew he was going to be served. Like a spider who weaves its superfine webs around its future victims, Roy had woven a web the minute he stuffed his rock hard body into the tightly fitting leather jeans.

He didn't need chaps the outline the equally hard contours of his man-sized dick. He didn't even need his hefty piece of meat to enslave some unsuspecting sucker. The way he stood, with his legs wide apart, said it all, said "welcome," in a way no simple statement could. And like the fly he was, David moved in closer.

Nobody questioned the sound of the belt reverberating across David's denim-covered buttocks. It was a regular part of the sounds that filled the place each and every night. Nor were the half-naked bodies surrounding the duo anything out of the ordinary. Their presences, like the punctuated sounds of whipping , was as much a part of the overheated room as the dried urine coating the floor. Only love didn't belong. And that, like all sought-after fantasies, could be turned into something kinky and accepted. Accepted, like the sight of David's pants being pulled below his waist; little or no consideration being given to whether his skin came with them. And then, within the time it took to lower a zipped. Davis was naked in front of his new-found daddy, his lips pleading for the punishment he knew he deserved.

All eyes moved to the pair as Roy spun his verbal web, first commanding his body slave to lick his boots clean, then forcing the boy's head up to crotch level so he could suck in rhythm to his

'Suck that meat, pig face. Lap up all those juices like the cocksucker you are.

David knew all the words by heart. Few masters could come up with new combinations to tease his ears with. Pig face. Shit head. Dirt bag. He had been called them all. Cocksucker. Dick slave. Raunch face. Nothing new under the sun. And certainly nothing new under a man's dangling balls. Just the same old sweat. And extra inch or two. More or less, But sometimes, in the newness of the combination there was heat. And excitement.

"Suck the sweat out, fuckface. Lick your master's sweat."

David looked up at Roy's oversized cock. He could see his spit trickling down the engorged head. His tongue massaged the piss slit, allowing him to taste the few drops of recycled beer that collected in the open hole. He had done his job well. He had served the man just the way he had wanted him to, and now he waited for some word of praise from the man standing above him. Instead, David looked up at a raised hand holding a studded leather belt. With one guick swallow he prepared himself for the feel of sweat drenched leather across his back. Instead, the man wound the belt around David's neck, almost choking him in the process. There would be no praise; no rewards. Only a dull ache in his genitals that told him he had found a man with no mercy. A man worthy of being called his master. A man deserving of his love.

"You know, David, you can't go on like this. Sooner or later you're going to meet someone who's going to pull a slick number on you. Then where will you be? Up shit's creek without a paddle. Or with the paddle stuck up your ass. Now if you ask me … '

But he never did. He never expected anyone to understand. To understand why his body craved punishment like most men's bodies craved caresses. How do you tell someone that a whip gives a very tender kiss, indeed? That blood trickled from a cat-of-nine-tails is a lover's gift? That pain is the pleasure worth sharing? You don't tell anyone. At least not in the world where shadowed figures gather around two human animals going through a deadly courtship ritual. David saw their eyes and the satisfaction that makes men and women huddle around the corpse of a recently-hanged man. It was the same satisfaction he got from watching the gladiator's back run red from repeated lashings. Only now, it was even greater. Now it was David's turn at the stake. David poised for the blows that he hoped would come before the man discharged his pent up spunk inside his willing mouth.

Slowly, with the image of his hairy father misting before his eyes he began the chant. His chant. "Beat me. Beat me, Daddy. Beat me. Daddy. Beat me." The words repeated, mantra-like, over and over and just barely audible in the din of sucking noises.

But Roy heard it. His ears opened as the pleadings filled the

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inner canals that led to his brain. One by one his brain cells fired messages to his hand. "Beat the fucker. Whip his ass. Make him beg for you to stop." And as he felt his load rising through the stiff cock shaft resting in his slave's mouth, he held the belt aloft and brought it down on the kneeling man's ass. Over and over again, until it seemed like no other sound dared break the reverence of the moment. Only when he felt his cock cream come spilling out of the spit drenched piss slit did he allow his hand to break its unceasing rhythm. Only then did he look down to see the raised welts criss-crossing the man's bare ass. And only then did he feel the triumph of the performer as shooting cocks rained applause on the piss soaked floor.

David knew the blows were just a beginning. He knew that the welts would fade within an hour and the sting of the belt would be a memory in even less time. With his knees now soaked in a pool of spilled-out jism, he realized that from that point onward, he would be a marked man. His battered butt would tell everyone in the bar that he was more than anxious to take a beating and beg for more. The welts would be his Scarlet Letter, announcing to the world within the converted warehouse that here was a grade-A masochist, ready for whatever someone with an excess of anger could dish out. But with his face staring into Roy's dangling slab of meat, David did a thing he rarely ever did. He raised himself up and looked into the face of the man who had just undeservedly beat him. It was the look of a kicked dog. Or a cat thrown out in the rain. It was a look that said, "I want more." And as his mind said it, his lips repeated the thought. He asked the man to take him home. His home, or any home he could bring him to. He asked the man to claim him for the night. Then either discard him in the morning or let him become an object for repeated use.

And as the words came streaming from his lips, he saw the look in the man's face. The look told him it would be possible. That what he wanted would come to pass. That dad was resurrected, if only for the night, in the form in which some day he hoped to find

All eyes watched the look of triumph on the slave's face as his master led him out into the night. No gladiator went more willingly into the lion's den, or into the path of an onrushing opponent. With one nod of his master's head, he was Demetrius reborn. The ancient Roman repeating his past life over and over, with an ever- present whip dangling nearby. And just like in the ancient days, the crowd parted before the triumphant warriors, their bodies still naked and their wounds still gaping. Once outside, an ancient yellow chariot bore them to David's tiny cubicle. Its taciturn driver watched as hands grabbed crotches in the back seat. Like the eunuch he was, he could only guess at where they had been or where they were going. He saw only the leather and the dangling chains, which told him it was ritual the passengers were after.

It was those chains which announced the triumphant entrance into the ancient city. Chains and the oversized heels of leather boots reverberating on the staircase. One person knew what the ritual would be. He had heard it all before, through the leaking steampipes. He smiled to himself and gripped his crotch as he heard the boots stop overhead. Then, like a rush of clanging steam through a radiator, he heard the crash of belt on butt over and over again until he had relieved himself on the cracked lino-

But long before the cumming, there had been the awkward pauses. The moment to regain the equilibrium established in the bar. The resumption of the birthright poses. Top and bottom. Supplicant and Sadist. Little Boy and Daddy. But it had begun. And it had built. The setting changed now. Dark corners filled with street-found furniture. Couches instead of piss-drenched concrete. Hooks strategically placed in doorways, tempting the top to play his rope tricks. And still the magic worked. It worked the minute Roy removed his shaft from its protective leather sheeting. It worked as David dropped to his knees and started filling his mouth with spit stained leather. And just to drown out the sounds, a movie, replayed past the point of cumming that had occurred only brief hours before. Going far beyond the cinematic version. Going far beyond what would have been accepted on screen. And just barely going to the bottom's limit.

It stopped just short of scarring. But just barely. For one frightening minute, David wasn't the least bit sure he would walk away from the ordeal without a set of marks to attest to his servitude. It was a recurring nightmare that haunted his waking sleeping. Sometimes, in the early morning hours he saw his body hopelessly bruised beyond recognition, its smooth surface pitted and lined with the earmarks of repeated lashings and burned ends of snuffed cigarettes.

"Sooner or later, David, there'll be a price to pay. And I don't want to be there to witness the results. I've seen what can happen when someone goes too far. I haven't been a nurse all these years without coming across every kind of pain one human being can inflict upon another. And some of it hasn't been pretty at all. Not the least bit pretty."

But it was hard to think about such things with your hands tied behind your back or your mouth stuffed with someone's raunchy jock. And friends were notorious for being envious.

"When was the last time you got your butt stuffed?"

The question broke the reverie. Unfortunately, with his mouth full of stretched-out cotton jock, it was hard to come up with an appropriate answer. David knew instinctively that most of a master's questions were rhetorical. But had he been able to answer, he would have given some small protest about not being into anything anal.

"It looks like that's about the only hole left to stuff."

Somehow, he didn't think the choice was his, after all. Resignation came easily to a bottom man. Resignation and the surrendering of control. And sometimes, but rarely, trust.

"Wonder if this belt would slide up your hole or not." David knew that it would. Ironically, his ass muscles were of the gaping kind. Convenient, but not all that convenient considering he ordinarily liked to fill it with nothing more than the bulbous end of an enema tube. But as the greased up belt slid deeper and deeper into his gut, he tried to relax those ass muscles and please reckoned with.

"Now maybe we ought to make some use of those hooks you've so conveniently put up for me. That ass of yours is real red. Just like a side of beef. Maybe we ought to hang you up like the piece of meat you are."

The thought had occurred to him. Often. Now it was in the realm of the possible. With his feet barely touching the floor and his hands secured to the corners of the door frame, David could do nothing but let his mind wander. Secure in a leather hood, his fantasies stayed inside his brain, punctuating the new silence of his leather-framed world. He could feel his body being used. Weights dangled from his stretched-out nipples. More weights were suspended from his equally lengthened nut sac. Then, as the belt was slowly pulled out from his anus, David knew it was time for the ritual whipping that he had hoped would end the night's activities. When it did come, it was no surprise. But surprise or not, the pain was more intense than he had counted on.

With his ears firmly encased in the hood, he could only hear the muffled slaps of leather on flesh. He tried to make out the words his master was saying in rhythm to each raised movement of his hand. He had heard the words often enough to be able to figure out their gist. David was well versed in verbal abuse. Mad he wanted to do so, he could have mimicked the words and become a top man himself. But he knew it would be only mimicry. His role in life was to receive rather than give. And receive he did. With each lowering of his master's arm, he could feel the welts on his bare butt cry out under the savage pain. The man was not about to stop. At least not until he had vented whatever secret anger it was that drove him to take frustrations out on some picked-up stranger.

"All right, fucker. Let's see that ass of your move. I want to watch that hole of yours cry out."

The intent, if not the accuracy of the words was there. The man wanted to see red. Red welts. Red blood. And red puckering at the

point where the ass cheeks converged, like two hemispheres of a brain. Slowly, even the studs on the belt began to leave their marks. David could feel the spot where the raised pieces of metal had begun to cut into the flesh. Panic rose in his throat as he thought about the marks those gouges might leave. But panic was soon forgotten as he filled his brain with one thought and one thought only … he was being punished. Punished by a leather daddy who knew, as only leather daddies can know, exactly what he had done to deserved such cruel punishment. Somehow, the past and present had been bridged in a few short hours. The man understood. He understood without a word being exchanged. Like the little boy he was, David could not name the nebulous deed. He could only imagine its existence and reason that it was the cause of the ache in his now-bleeding buttocks. And with that understanding, he cried. Cried to the man who was giving him so much pain and pleasure and cried to a man whose face was distantly familiar.

Roy heard the sobs that choked in his slave's throat. They were nothing new. Many slaves had cried under his whipping. It was ritual. It was expected. But something in the way the boy said "Daddy" over and over again wore at the defense of coldness and cruelty he had perfected. He knew he wasn't the daddy being called for. In the stillness of the moment he could hear his own voice resounding through an empty room. It was a voice long since buried under protective layers. A voice that came out only as he looked into the pleading eyes of some new conquest. And as he looked into the mirror placed nearby he could see the image of the man who had made that voice come out some many times so many years ago.

Like a ghost, the word hung in the stagnant air. David looked over from his bent-over position to watch the shadow appear and leave with one last blow against his skin. So quick was its movement that, once seen, it was soon forgotten. It remained only in the drops seeping from the ribbon-like bruises crisscrossing the upended butt. Like converging telephone lines, they told a story that would be too much for most people to fathom. Not even psychics would dare to read the lines or smears which formed as Roy lifted David to his feet. Only the ghosts that lived in the room's sharp corners knew what they meant. And their laughter, as they watched the two men fall into each other's arms, was all that filtered up the steampipes at that moment.

That, and the understanding that somehow there was more than just mutual gratification in the connection. The blood had flowed too deeply. The blows had been too heavy. The tears were much too real. Not even Hollywood could duplicate the ending. All it could do was come up with a weak facsimile; two bodies dancing into the sunset, one dragging chains and ropes, the other carrying a cattle prod as it did its twostep. Neither one aware of the performance or even that they were performing.

But all movies end. And as the open reel clattered the end of its contents onto the projector, our heroes lay contented; one on piles of cushions, the other with a can of beer poised between his open legs. It was now time again for Demetrius. With one push of a button, the gladiator rolled into view again, his muscles oiled and ready for the inevitable lashing. Even as his lover passed, her hair a Medusa-snarl of dyed black curls, his face remained frozen. Not the lions who snarled around his feet as if that were their fetish, and not the ancient rule who had betrayed his one-time servant. Only David smiled, his fantasies contented and laid to rest for the moment. There would be hours before he'd have to think about morning. And by then he might be dead. Torn apart by roving packs of wolves or made victim to the seated watchers in the corners. In the meantime, there was reassurance in the ache. He could hold his butt up to the mirror and know for certain that someone had been there. Like the soreness, the glow would last into the week. Beyond that was mere conjecture. And at the moment, not important. What was important was the film. And there were still so many trials and tribulations for Demetrius. And with his hand wound inside his master's thighs, David had every intention of watching the movie until its finish.

FETISH FEATURE

Fetish Feature is a new special section that will be found in most issues of Drummer. Each issue will focus on a special turn-on, including news and information, fiction, photos, art, etc. for each fetish. A special feature will be the Fetish Tough Customers section. Send in your special photos for the Fetish TCs and send in your stories, etc. for these upcoming fetishes:

Because Drummer 108, which originally announced this feature series, was held up so long by the printers, there are no Fetish Tough Customers in this issue. For this same reason, we have pushed the schedule back one issue and will not have a Fetish Feature in Drummer 111.

HOT BOTTOMS

Hot Bottoms is a magazine for male spanking enthusiasts produced by Control-T Studio. Issue #13, the most recent one we have seen, is 38 pages, 81 / 2×11" photocopied typescript with some photo illustrations. It includes several short stories, several pages of letters to the editor and 79 personal ads, a few with photos. Cover price is $5; no subscription rate is listed. For more information, contact Control-T Studio, 13624 Sherman Way #475, Van Nuys, CA 91405.

VIDEO TAPE REVIEW

This month Fledermaus sent me (count 'em: 5!) spanking videos to review. The first thing I did was throw my shoulder out of joint during a marathon solo jack-off session. My arm was in a sling for a week. Told the doctor I tripped while walking the dog; he did not believe it, either. Anyway, I'm back to using both hands, so I'll get on with the business at hand (so to speak). Three of these tapes are from CONTROL-T STUDIOS and two from MAN'S HAND FILMS (see addresses at the end of this review). I've seen a number of productions from both of these companies and this set of tapes is among the best they have ever produced.

First of all, I'd like to make some general comments about both of these outfits and compare their styles. Control-T Stu- dios tapes usually have better resolution and better lighting. What good is a group of hot men if the tape is so dark you cannot make out the details you are looking for? They also have a better-looking stable of actors, especially if you are into young dudes. They could use some older, "daddy" types, not only for believability but for those of us who have other tastes. The story lines and plots are pretty good, such as they are. They set up the situation quickly and get down to action. After all, we are not watching these for the likes of Ibsen or Chekov. The one thing that bothers me the most about Control-T is that they seem to go out of their way to keep from showing a man's cock. I know that in spanking tapes the primary focus is on the backside, but attached to the reverse of every ass is a cock I would like to see as well. Perhaps they are going for a PG-13 rating. When the actors slide their pants down, all too often the underwear still covers an important part of a man's anatomy. Come on guys-show us what you've got! The sets for Control-T are usually an interior room, often with a blue tarp for a backdrop. This could be overlooked but I would like it if they would keep the cables on the floor out of the picture and be a little more careful about shooting out of the defined set. As I said above, the lighting lets you see everything that happens in great detail and I find that a big plus. The camera angles vary to keep interest and work quite well. The opening montage of scenes from other movies is a great teaser, choreographed and timed perfectly to the music. Cinematography gets an A+.

Man's Hand Films vary greatly in quality from one another, even on the same tape. They use outdoor shots in setting up the scenario and real rooms for sets. This adds to realism but the result is often loss of detail and very poor lighting. I only review original copies of the tapes as supplied by Fleder-maus , who gets them direct from the companies. The difference , I suspect, is the result of using a movie camera rather than direct-to-tape. The noise of the movie camera is obvious and annoying. Man's Hand does, however, let you see the whole actor - including his cock. The age range of the actors is greater and I see that as a big advantage.

Now some comments about the individual tapes.

Comment: Highly recommended .

The Punishment Room (Control-T Studios FMO #2; 75 min. @1986, $79.95)

This is a single story tape, but what a story! The Punishment Room is in a boys' reformatory school. Rule infractions are dealt with here. This tape is a series of sessions between the bad boys and the warden or his guards. The warden looks the part of a political appointee but does not fit the role of a stern disciplinarian; he looks more like a teddy bear. He does have good technique and can deliver a firm and effective spanking . If only he would keep his mouth shut. In the initial contact we have with the warden, he is explaining the rules of the room to the guards: they may use their hands but to use any of the instruments they must get his permission first. The very first spanking session violates this rule. We must assume the guard obtained the required permission off-screen, but it would be a nice turnaround if the warden punished the guard for his infraction. Comment: Highly recommended .

The Spankmasters (Control-T Studios CTS #28; 60 min. @1987, $69.95)

This tape does not have any plot at all. It is a series of three sessions that can best be described as hot, hotter and hottest ! One of the sessions disturbs me. The top consistently and repeatedly hits the boy too high. He keeps hitting the tail-bone . This can cause great pain; not the pain of a good spanking but as in hurting somebody. If this spot is used with a wooden paddle or heavy instrument, the coccyx could be broken. This type of thing on video tape offends me very much. Those people that buy this tape and are novices could get the idea that this sort of thing is the correct way of spanking somebody. It is not. This is not just a difference of opinion or style but an issue of safety. Producers of any sort of S / M tape should have the ethical responsibility of presenting only correct technique. Some not safe sex as portrayed on the screen, but you must give them the freedom of fantasy vs. reality . I refer you to the Caution Statement in the front of each issue of Drummer. On the whole, we are fortunate that many areas of S / M do not include the exchange of body fluids and have always been safe sex. This is especially true with spanking. Please, your bottom may not be able to sit down for awhile, but don't hurt him. There is one other character in this tape I want to comment on. The bad boy in the second and third session in the hottest body in any of this month's tapes. He starts off by saying "You know why I'm here and I know whay I'm here, so let's get down to business." And they do. If he is not into the scene as much as he appears to be, he does a great job of acting. Only his ass is not acting , it's RED! This is the man I lust for and fantasize about. I'd like to see more of him in future tapes. If only he didn't lick the tennis shoes. Use boots next time!

Comment: Highly recommended .

(continued on page 48)

Sassy Student & Neighborhood Thieves

(Control-T Studios, CBV #1101; 60 min. @1987, $69.95)

This tape has all black actors. It is good to see Control-T using all their efforts and abilities to produce an all-black tape equal to the best they have ever done. The first segment involves a teacher catching a student going through the teacher's desk. The student chooses the alternate punishment rather than being reported to the dean. Both of these guys are good looking. The action is hot. And the result is the student learns a good lesson. The second story is a man coming home to find two thieves ransacking his-house . Rather than a report to the police, the two thieves also choose a spanking. My imagination was stretched a bit by one man ending up spanking the two so easily. There is a lot of good action and by having two butts to work on, the action is varied. As the top says, those brown butts turn red. The one thief that wears boxer shorts (something for everyone) does have a hard time keeping a straight face. His laughing hurts the fantasy that is already spread thin.

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(Man's Hand Films, MHV #107; 30 min., @1987 $59.95)

This is the best of the Man's Hand Films. The quality is the same as Control-T's, It is well-lit with good resolution. This appears top have been a direct-to -tape production. I hope future tapes are of this high technical quality. Butts Only has a military setting. There is more dialog than usual and this is a great asset in moving the tape along. The talking does not get in the way of the spanking action. There is plenty. The new Lt. j.g. does get his in the end, pun intended. There is a surprise twist at the very end that left me laughing and with a good feeling. Well done guys. As the Cycle Turns starts out as an all-too-hokey porn flick. You do find out the idea is a movie-within-a-movie. With that in mind, the story works well. Both of the butts in this episode get worked over good and hard. And — you get to see a couple of nice looking cocks. They end up leaving the movie set to get a drink at a bar where they can stand up to drink. They will be standing up for several days. In this segment they use a small blue paddle that I recognized and can recommend . See my comment at the end of the review.

Comment: Recommended. Would be Highly Recommended , but for sixty bucks you should get more than thirty minutes no matter how good a job they do.

Coach From Down Under, Attitude , Cry Uncle & My Roomie; (Man's Hand Films, 60 min, @1987, $69.95.)

I'm sorry, guys, but this is the worst of the lot. The old problem of movie camera noise, very dark picture and poor sound give this tape big problems . In Coach From Down Under, the sound completely disappears several times even when the mouths are moving. Attitude with Officer Powers is not that bad. He does a pretty fair job. There is a big construction worker type at the end that I would like to see used a lot more. What a daddy hulk; oh daddy, oh daddy, oh daddy … Cry Uncle is dull and My Roomie is an English import. Despite the copyright date, these appear to be quite old movies.

Comment: Borrow or rent the tape first.

Control-T-Studios: 13624 Sherman Way #475, Van Nuys, CA 91405. (Videos, photos, audios , magazines. Hot Bottoms

bimonthly spanking maga- zine.)

Man's Hand Films: 633 Post, Suite 500, San Francisco, CA 94109. (Videos, photos, audios.)

Comment: During the discussion of As the Cycle Turns, I made reference to a blue paddle . This is a very light weight paddle that can deliver some good healthy swats. It is light enough and thin enough to put several in a large manila envelope to keep in the trunk of the car or in a suitcase when traveling . Keep several. They can be broken over a guy's butt with a little practice. The emotional high of breaking a paddle can really send a bottom over the edge. Not to mention what it can do for the top. Not only can I recommend these from personal experience, on both ends of the paddle, but I can heartily support the supplier. Check the Sandmutopia Supply Co. cata-log . They are a good buy.

Ed.: For information on ordering unbreakable ass paddles, whips, rubber hoses and other gear, see the inside front cover of this issue. п

by Erik Youngblood tear came to my eye. I had read in the paper that the first new 65 MPH speed-limit sign in the state was put up just south of Chicago on I-55. On a quick weekend trip I was looking out for this historic marker. Finally the nation had ended the second "Great Experiment" of the century. As the sign came into view, a tear swelled in my eye as I put the pedal to the metal and reset the speed control. Little did I know then that that same tear would be in my eye the very next weekend, but for a very different reason.

The next Friday night found me again getting out of the big city, this time heading south on I-65 through the great wasteland of Indiana. I must admit that I've always thought that Mr. Webster was being overly generous in describing a "Hoosier" as a dolt or country bumpkin. My education was lacking and soon to be completed.

The trip down was uneventful, if not boring. While the rest of the country was moving quickly to the new increased speed limit, Indiana was, as usual, behind the times. These people were still holding up progress at the old 55 MPH speed-limit. The weekend of fun and sun was so good that I developed the proverbial car trouble and called my boss to tell him I would not be in on Monday. All good things must come to an end, and on Monday morning I bid my friends goodbye and set out for the trip north. I hooked up with a convoy of semis and set the old cruise control. A tape in the cassette player helped pass the time and the miles.

As we approached Indianapolis the road widened to three lanes, and traffic picked up. I pulled out to the left and was the middle car of five. We all were cruising past trucks when I found out why they had slowed down. Why wasn't I paying attention? All the signs were there, but I was too caught up in a Vivaldi Concerto to notice, until it was too late. There he was. Ahead of the first truck was one of Indiana's finest. There was nothing to do but keep in the line of traffic. After all, I was in the middle, and he wouldn't pull over all five of us would he? As I passed him I looked over to see him looking straight at me. We made eye contact . He smiled. Was that a friendly smile or a sinister one?

The five of us passed him and pulled back in the right lane. As I watched in my rear-view mirror I thought I was off the hook. Just as my adrenalin pump slowed down, I saw him. He had turned on his lights and swerved over to the left lane. Before I could even ponder the possibilities, he was behind me right on my bumper. I was caught.

I was running the usual excuses through my mind as he walked up to my car. As I watched him in the mirror I thought what a hulk this kid was. He asked for my license and went back to check me through his on-board computer. Why was he taking so long? I knew I was clean, no priors, no warrants, no nothing. Why was he taking so long? By the time he returned I was a raw bundle of nerves. He leaned in the window and said I was lucky the computer found nothing. I breathed a little easier. The bit about keeping up with traffic got me nowhere. He was still leaning on the window looking at me through those mirrored sunglasses that cops favor so much.

That was when it all started. The tone of his voice changed and I could tell the climate was changing as well. He tried to sound as if he was pissed off. He was due to get off duty in just half an hour and was on his way to the station to turn in his car when he stopped me. Was it my imagination or were those mirrored lenses really staring at my crotch? One of his options was to take me in and let me wait for the judge to settle this in the morning. He stood up as he said this and was tapping his left hand with my plastic-coated license in his right hand. I was staring out the window straight into his crotch this time. I found myself lost in lust for this fantasy being played out. I really don't remember what I said but it was something like promising to drive more carefully and be good in the future.

He interrupted my babbling to say if his daddy had caught him speeding he would have been taken out to the woodshed and the matter settled right there and then. My imagination was working overtime. As I stared at his belt I could swear I could make out a familiar outline in his pants. Was It growing? Could I be sure? The climate was most definitely changing. I laughed out loud and agreed with him. If I came home with a speeding ticket my daddy would have settled things as well, and did.

We quickly found out we had both been raised in a small country town where woodsheds were common and well used. That outline in his pants was growing even bigger and so was mine. The climate again changed, very abruptly. "Well," he said, "we could let the judge settle this or we could take care of things ourselves." Was this hunk of a cop making a play for me? He was ten years younger than me but still very much in charge. A quick pinch to my leg proved this was reality and not one of my favorite fantasies. Being somewhat noncommittal just in case I was wrong, I said I would rather not have a mark on my driving record . "Well then," he said with a sly smile, "I guess you'll have marks some place else!" Bingo! I was right. Maybe, just maybe, I hit the jackpot. "Follow me," he ordered. With an even more serious tone, he reminded me he still had my license.

When he got into his car he pulled around me and I followed most obediently. The lights on the car were still on and I was embarrassed by the attention of the other drivers. Was he really looking to attract attention, or was he just building my anxiety? Whatever the reason, it worked. After a couple of more exits he turned off the Interstate and turned off his lights. There was a small park and he pulled in the parking lot. He came back to my car and told me to wait for him there while he turned in the car. He would be back in an hour and I better be there. He was again tapping his hand with my license. I assured him I would do as I was told. I was in enough trouble. He sped out of the lot and I was left to await my fate.

One hour and three minutes later a car pulled in next to me. It was my real live fantasy in a loud hot muscle car. I was ordered to follow or else. Before I could start my engine, he was out of the lot. I followed as best I could. At the entrance to the expressway he was waiting for me. We took off together and headed right through the downtown area. If you have never taken Deadman's Curve in Indianapolis at 85 MPH you cannot imagine the fear I had. If I don't keep up with him I may not get out of the state. If I do keep up I may not live. I kept up. There must have been enough adrenalin pumping through my veins to perform superhuman stunts. We slowed down and exited just west of the city. After a few turns off the main road we wound our way into an apartment complex surrounding a small lake. He pulled into a parking space and I pulled in next to him. We were there.

As he got out of his car he put his Smokey-the-bear hat back on. He was still in full uniform. Dark blue shirt, light blue tie, gun belt and all. He motioned for me to follow him as he headed to his

PAGE 44

apartment door. Unlocking the door he stood back for me to enter. The door was closed and locked behind us. The drapes were already closed and the late afternoon sun gave the room an eerie glow. It was then I again noticed those mirrored sunglasses.

"Well, boy, you know why you are here, don't you?" The game had started.

"Yes sir," I replied, "I was caught speeding." It was too late to back out now. We were at the woodshed.

"It's time you big-city boys learn you can't just run through our town." He said. "Now you are going to pay for your crime."

There he was, my dream cop in his full glory. Slowly he raised the waist band of his Sam Brown to reveal the basket-weave pattern of the uniform belt. Slowly, ever so slowly, he unbuckled the belt and slid it out of his pants, one belt loop at a time. We were standing in the middle of his living room but the atmosphere was most definitely the woodshed.

"Drop your pants." Those were the words my daddy always used. The words that still strike fear into every bone in my body. I complied. My pants were around my knees, and I reached for the elastic of my jockeys. He nodded. I slid them down. There I was, bare assed with a cock that couldn't hide my excitement. He put his hand on my shoulder to position me over the back of a chair. As he pulled my shirt out of the way he finally spoke.

"How fast were you going boy?"

There was no way I could or would lie, He knew the truth. "I was clocked at 65, Sir."

"Then," he stated, "your punishment will be the same." He stepped back and I waited.

Very soon I felt it. I screamed. Without realizing it I stood up and turned to look at him. Reality was too real. If he intended to do 64 more like that one I would not survive. He didn't say a word but turned me back over the chair. His touch was soft and gentle. How could a man with a caring touch be so cruel? He rubbed my back and then traced my spine down to my ass. His hand was cool compared to the burning from that first meeting with his uniform belt. Without a word he let ne know I was safe. The leather belt was sliding back and forth across my burning butt. When he removed it I knew that number two was coming. It landed just off where the first one hurt so much. Only this one didn't hurt all that much. Was I getting used to the pain so quickly, or was he being as caring as his touch indicated?

The belt was removed from my ass and number three landed. This was not his first time in wielding a belt. I kept count silently. The only sounds were the belt hitting my upturned ass and the resulting moans and hisses from my downturned face. The strokes were varied in location and intensity. He made sure no spot on my ass was neglected. The strokes got harder up to a point and then he eased off. Always keeping me off guard, he never let me forget why we were there. The cadence was steady and the end was coming, 61, 62, 63, 64 … He stopped.

Had I lost count? Then he spoke. "Have you been counting boy?"

"Yes, sir," I whimpered.

"Then you know that you have one more coming to you?" he asked.

"Yes sir." I hadn't lost count.

He again rubbed my burning ass and told me that the last one would be even worse than the first. I really didn't know if I could handle it but when asked, I told him I was ready. He removed his hand as I waited time slowed and seemed to stop. I braced myself . The belt landed on my ass but I was on another planet somewhere . The pain had put me there. I could not even scream like I did on the first stroke. My body was rigid as every muscle contracted at once as I laid over the chair. My mind was soaring somewhere between the exquisite pain and the relief that the whipping was over.

As I came back down to earth my body began to relax and I became more aware of my surroundings. My cop had waited for my arrival. As I was shaking my head to clear it I saw him drop the belt in the chair. Again without words, he had spoken to me: it was over. Next came the hat and finally those sunglasses that had prevented me from seeing his eyes.

He touched me and then leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Are you okay?" he asked. I reached over to touch that beautiful face as he helped me down to the floor. He put his arms around me and held me tight. We stayed on the floor until I spoke. I could finally look into his eyes. I told him I hadn't had a good whipping in a long long time but never one as harsh and as caring as the one he just gave me.

We at last could laugh together as friends and equals. He got up and told me to get out of my clothes so he could put some lotion on my tenderized backside. By the time he returned, I had gotten up and was looking around to see the results of his work. The anesthetic ointment he used was like ice compared to the fire he rubbed it on. After his ministrations to my wounds he asked me if I would like a drink. Only if he had a stand-up bar was my reply.

He remained dressed and I stayed naked. Even though the debt to society had been paid in full, he was still in charge. Besides, I loved the look of that body made even more sexy by the blue uniform with the striped trousers of the state police. We talked and found we had more in common than fathers with woodsheds . We were relaxed and fast becoming friends. When I mentioned that I would not only drive more slowly, but with the current condition of my ass I may not be able to drive at all, he asked me to stay the night. He had worked the weekend and was off the next two days. Then I told him that my supposed car trouble had already made me one day late getting back to work so maybe, just maybe, the garage didn't have the parts handy. The sun had gone down long ago but neither of us had noticed. I agreed to stay.

Since we were now friends I thought I would push my luck. "You know," I said, "you really gave me a run when I was following you. That trip on Deadman's Curve was a bit too fast."

He admitted he was trying to impress me.

"It's a good thing your daddy doesn't know about that little episode," I stated matter of factly. The game was on again, only this time we had reversed rolls. "Well," I stated with authority, "maybe your daddy doesn't know about it, but I do!" I walked over to the chair and picked up the belt. He followed me this time. I turned and faced him nose to nose. Here I was, naked and my ass burning, facing this cop in almost full uniform. He was silent but with bowed head. The game was on. I stepped aside and uttered those fearful words. "Drop 'em!" He dropped his pants and shorts at the same time. "You know the position don't you?" He bent over the chair and awaited his fate this time.

I have used a belt a few times as well as he and returned the favor he had given me just a little while ago. I duplicated my whipping on his ass stroke for stroke, including the first and last. When I went to the bathroom to get ointment, it was his turn to get undressed.

We had another drink and some sandwiches. This time we were both standing up.

We were both tired and decided to turn in for the night, or what was left of it. He led me to the bedroom. I crawled under the covers while he went to turn out the lights. He slipped into bed next to me. We looked at each other and laughed out loud as we realized at the same time that both of us were lying on our stomachs . We turned carefully toward each other and kissed good-night . The next morning we said goodbyes and I was on my way back to the Big City.

After working only three days that week, I found myself again getting away. I looked for any excuse this time. The only requirement was that I head south. The signs at the Indiana state line that proudly proclaim that "Hoosier hospitality is no accident" have taken on a new meaning. I have learned a great deal about Hoosier hospitality and about one certain Hoosier in particular. He may have been from the country, but he is certainly no country bumpkin.

Twice now I have traveled through Indianapolis. Both times I rode the old double nickel. Not for fear that I would be caught, but that I wouldn't.

Maybe next time.

DRUMMEDIA

MOVID

TEEN PUNK VAMPIRES DOMINATE SUBMISSIVE TOWN

I walked out of my first screening of The Lost Boys with a cocky strut, hissing and flashing my teeth. The movie has that kind of effect on you.

"The Lost Boys" are a quartet of handsome teen punk vampire bikers who terrorize a fantasy California coastal town called Santa Carla, played in real life by Santa Cruz, complete with that town's famous Boardwalk amusement park and arcades.

The film turns on their seduction of new-boy-in-town Michael Emerson, played by smoldering Jason Patric, with his Iim Morrison deja-vu face. While Michael is ostensibly drawn into the renegade circle by a beautiful girl, Star (played by Jami Gertz), the Lost Boys exude a sexually potent allure of their own. It is only thinly masked by their casual macho posturing, easy boy-banter and the kind of head games that in-cool frat brothers play on unwary freshmen. When they look at him, there is lust in their eves. When they call him into the night, they sound like sirens , crying across the water to a lost sailor.

One of the hottest films of the 1987 summer (it will be released as a video in early 1988), The Lost Boys portrays more than a ritual of male bonding. In the film, producers Richard Donner (Superman — The Movie and 1986's Lethal Weapon) and Harvey Bernhard (the three "Omen" movies) and director Joel Schumacher (St. Elmo's Fire) have repackaged the traditional male-vampire-seduces -female-victim story into a subtle male homosexual tale.

The elements are simple. The Lost Boys live and sleep together (in a cave-like lair, befitting bats). Yes, they keep a pretty girl and her little son around, but their only interest in her seems to be to seduce Michael into joining them. And their nocturnal activities are lustful, although their bloodsucking is strictly violent, and not overtly sexual. Nevertheless , vampires have a long history as irresistible paramours, including in gay porn flicks.

One could easily stretch this analysis too thin, and I don't want to suggest that the film is obviously a gay tale. It is not. But the feeling around the edges is fun.

Other layers of direction and production design also tantalize . There are trappings of S / M here and there. The Boys' costumes accent leather chaps and jackets mixed with pieces of uniforms and punk esoterica. Trendy fashion is everywhere in this film. And the Boys' nighttime feeding rituals, which feel so sexual on a group of men who look like John Bon Jovi & company, in a sinister way call to mind the midnight prowls of strutting leathermen in search of rather more willing victims. But this might also be stretching things.

There is also a brief but phenomenal rock concert scene, featuring bodybuilder Tim Ca- pello, Tina Turner's sax player, that is worth the price of admission . Capello, who has been featured in Tina's recent videos , belts out The Call's "I Still Believe" to a pretty teenage crowd, his oiled torso gleaming under the spotlights, accented by chains and leather. Your mouth may begin to water.

Although the Boys ride dirt bikes rather than Harleys, bike riders may also enjoy the director's skillful intertwining of the Boys' hellbent motorcycle style with their ability to fly. In fact, from the film's opening scene to its last, the audience frequently flies with the vampires. The trick helps the audience associate the vampires with freedom and power, associations that some people often connect with motorcycle men.

To top it off, The Lost Boys fuses a solid, clever script with fine acting and thoughtful, novel direction. The characters are sympathetic and memorable . The direction mixes delightful humor cut with razor-sharp terror and brooding surrealism . For comedy, it's hard to beat Michael's little brother, Sam (Corey Haim), singing a falsetto "Ain't Got No Home" in the bathtub. If you like surrealism , Michael's initiation on a foggy train trestle is poetic. And fright lovers will not be disappointed. Find out for yourselves.

The ensemble of excellent actors includes Oscar-winner Dianne Wiest (Hannah and Her Sisters) as mother Lucy, Barnard Hughes as the offbeat grandfather, Edward Herrman (who won an Emmy for his protrayal of FDR in Eleanor and Franklin) as Max, and Jamison Newlander and Corey Feldman as the "Frog Brothers." The Boys are portrayed by Kiefer Sutherland (Donald's son), by Brooke McCarter, Billy Wirth and Alexander Winter.

Go see it, or go rent it. Whichever comes first.

Kevin Wolff

BOOKS

KILLING TIME LIFE IN THE ARKANSAS PENITENTIARY by Bruce Jackson

Compelling images and vivid words compliment one another in this remarkable book about an American prison and the men who live and work there. More than 130 full-page photographs speak eloquently about what it is like inside Cummins, the Arkansas prison farm for adult males.

These extraordinary pictures, taken by a gifted photographer over half a decade, show the spaces where life and work go on—the barracks and the cells, the mess hall, the fields, and the shops. Here are the paintings and sketches, the pinups, the family pictures with which the men decorate the finy bits of space they are allotted and try to make their own. And the faces-whether looking unflinchingly into the camera, grinning at some horseplay , or staring off into space—are like those of people we all know.

Following the photographs is a series of documents supplying historical background for the images. This section opens with a raw and powerful memoir written by a long-term inmate who describes the brutal conditions of earlier years and talks flatly of casual killings within the prison. Other selections are drawn from Jackson's conversations with inmates, guards, and administrators; from newspaper reports and interviews; and from official prison papers. Words and photographs together create a strong sense of place, an environment, a brutal world where men work hard at the business of survival.

Available from Sandmutopia Supply Co. Bookshop. See page 13 for order information.

CONCRETE MAMA, PRISON PROFILES FROM WALLA WALLA

Photographs by Ethan Hoffman Text by John McCoy

With the intensity of a documentary film, Concrete Mama, shows us what it is like to "do time" in one of America's meanest prisons—the Washington State Penitentiary at Walla Walla. Since the late 1960s, the penitentiary has been the laboratory for an experiment in penal reform. Inmates were allowed to make a wide range of personal decisions, and leaders of inmate clubs governed the prison alongside the administration. By summer, 1978, when Hoffman and Mc-Coy began work on this book, this permissiveness had led to a near breakdown in prison security. In an atmosphere of riots, murders, and lockdowns, Hoffman and McCoy were granted an unprecedented privilege: They were allowed to spend four months inside the prison's walls, roaming the maximum-security com- pound at will, gaining the confidence of inmates and staff, gathering the insightful observations and prize winning photographs collected in this book. In the sense that prison is a society like any other, the people who live and work "behind the walls" have formed a unique community whose code of conduct both mimics and scorns that of the world "outside." During their four months inside the prison, Hoff-man and McCoy found inmates who tried to do their time with patience and dignity. But they also met inmate "wolves," violent , manipulative men whose every waking hour was spent scheming how to exploit the system and their fellow inmates. They learned that being in prison did not mean that inmates stopped breaking the law; only that they had to find new victims. Much of what is recorded in this book is brutal, the raw reality of prison life that can only be hinted at in other media.

Available from Sandmutopia Supply Co. Bookshop, See page 13 for order information.

LEATHER NOTEBOOK by LARRY TOWNSEND

Dear Larry:

In most accounts of SM relationships , it seems possible for the Top to be of almost any age; however the bottom is generally young - and usually considerably younger than the Top. I know this makes a better story, whether dealing with real or fictional characters, but I wonder how this translates into real life. Because my own experience in leather / SM is quite limited, especially in the area where I live, I wonder how it is in San Francisco or New York, where the population of leather guys is much larger. Are there many situations where the bottom is an older man? Older than his Top? Or is this such a rare occurrence that a guy over forty might as well forget about it?

An Older bottom, WI

Dear Older:

If you're only in your forties, there's lots to hope for. I know one famous (or infamous) bottom who must be pushing 75, has had open heart surgery and still takes his licks regularly , and heavily. Being retired, he has the time to travel, and he certainly makes the most of it! Naturally, most Tops in this youth-oriented culture are going to fantasize on a young, virile bottom, with glowing, youthful skin and a beautifully molded ass. But when it comes to actually doing the deed, he is most likely to accept something considerably less breath-taking . And yes, I do know of several relationships where the bottom is older than the Top. Although these are sometimes a pay-for-play situation, or a long-term live-in deal where the older guy is footing the bill, it isn't always that way. And, believe it or not, there are a lot of young guys who really get off on the idea of tying Daddy up and whipping the shit out of him. You might also remember that being a good bottom requires just as much skill as being a Top — albeit in the reverse role. If you're a good bottom, able to take what the Top wants to give you, the chances are you will be in demand over the pretty boy who whines and wants to tell his Master what to do with him.

Dear Larry:

I have a question that may sound silly, but it's been a problem for me - and I have observed others who seem to encounter the same difficulty. Unless I am fresh out of a hot shower, my balls want to climb up and rest lightly against the base of my cock. That makes it difficult to put on even a cock ring, much less a more exotic device that is intended to spread the nuts or stretch them. Is there anything I can do to train my balls to hang, the way we always see them in illustrations for an erotic story?

Richard, Los Angeles

Dear Richard:

A lot of guys have balls which seem destined to be ever curled up in repose against the underside of their endowments. This is a matter of anatomical construction and it seems to vary greatly from the extreme of deep, low hanging balls to the type you describe. Heat will tend to make the balls descend, whereas cold does the reverse. I have known several guys who tried - with varied degress of success - to solve this "high rider" problem. If you want to embark on a full-fledged campaign , you might start using modest-length ball stretchers (such as are sold in most leather / toy shops), and wear one for as long as you can bear it during your waking hours. When you can handle the short one, move on to one that is longer. It will take quite a long time-maybe a couple of years-but if you are persistent and keep doing it, you will eventually stretch the tissues until your balls hang lower than they do today. You will probably never have real, Tom of Finland deep-hangers, but who has a cock that size, either? (A word of caution: do not wear a stretcher when you are asleep. If you should cut off circulation when you can't feel it, you could do yourself some injury.)

Dear Larry:

In some of your past columns , you have discussed several questions dealing with Nazis, with the sexual fascination the old uniforms have for many SM guys. I have also been interested in this phenomenon and I guess you might say that my greatest hobby is the study of World War II. Hitler, himself, is probably the most interesting enigma of the whole, particularly his sexuality. The few wo-men who have been identified as his sexual partners were all rather immature emotionally, and he seemed to have a penchant for the god-like, tall handsome, blond Aryan type of man. Closet case?

Lance, Miami, FL

Dear Lance:

I have thought about this as I read the various accounts of Hitler and his time. It's apparent that you are right about his women being immature. Eva Braun was certainly no challenge to his authority; nor was his neice, Geli Rabaul, who died under such mysterious circumstances. One of his greatest early supporters was Ernst Roehm, a "notorious homosexual " whom Hitler eventually destroyed. It's a puzzle that will probably never be solved. In some ways it reminds me of the writings of Casanova, who is reputed to be one of the greatest heterosexuals of all time. Yet, reading his memoirs he is often at greater pains to describe the handsome male guards or atten- dants than the lady herself. It really does make one wonder.

Dear Mr. Townsend:

As an avid reader of all L.T./ Drummer type material, I find myself wondering if it is ever possible for a man to achieve the lifetime status of slave to a single perfect (or at least acceptable Master. Outside your fictiona productions, have you eve enountered such a relationship that could be considered a life long commitment on the part o both Master and slave? Or, if you have not actually observed it, de you think it is possible for such to exist?

Hopeful, N'

Dear Hopeful:

A lifetime, barring accident of fatal disease, is a long tim indeed. I have encountere situations where two me have been together (not a ways living under the sam roof) and have maintaine their relationship(s) well int the "golden years". However what started out as a hot an heavy sexual bond had - each case — become some thing very different. The love and commitment remaine but whether I would still ca them Master and slave is que tionable. However, this is tre of any long term relationshi whether it be gay, het, SM whatever. The lust that ori inally brings two people t gether will always dimini over the years. It is somethi else that keeps a couple unite Even in fiction, I never try tell you that the glorious sex eternal. It isn't and it ca be.

(Ed.:For more on Leather / S relationships, see our new c umn, "Ties That Bind," by C Baldwin, starting in this issu

(If you would like Larry Tov send to address a particu problem, write to "Noteboo Drummer, PO Box 11314, 5 Francisco, CA 94101.)

LEATHE BOARD

ROCKY MOUNTAINS RUNS 1987

The Rocky Mountaineers Motorcycle Club of Colorado put on their sixteenth Golden Fleece Run this summer that according to reports was another tremendous success. The weather, the entertainment and the food are all reported to have been the best!

The Wasatch Leathermen's Falcon Flight again stood out as one of the more outstanding runs this year. A great bunch of guys who come together to succor one another on a very unique spot on this planet while the Falcon God watches overhead with approving eyes.

COMING … IN FEBRUARY 1988

For nearly ten years, Dun-geonMaster has been serving as the "technical and professional " journal for men into men and S / M.

Soon there will be a new journal, The Sandmutopia Guardian & Dungeon Journal, that will equally serve men and women, gay / lesbian, straight and bisexual. The first several issues will mainly present material from early DungeonMas-ters , revised to incorporate considerations for female anatomy , lesbian and heterosexual S / M — D / S relationships, and AIDS-aware safe sex practices. Carol Truscott, long-time columnist in the Society of Janus' Growing Pains, will use her experience and contacts with lesbians and bi- and heterosexual men and women to edit the new publication.

The "Guardian" will be the place for men and women into S / M to communicate. It will feature articles on S / M Safety; S / M philosophy and psychology ; buying and building S / M equipment and supplies; techniques for various kinds of equipment and scenes; news and information on S / M activi-ties ; personal ads … and much, much more. It will not have fantasy fiction. Like Dun-geonMaster , the writing will be as erotic and stimulating as possible while promoting safe, sane and consensual S / M.

Don't miss out - you will

BACKSTREET'S BIRTHDAY PARTY

Hunky models from the Body Tech shop in Chelsea showed off the latest leather goods at the second birthday party of England's most popu- have until December 1, 1987 to place a free personal ad in the "Guardian." Write for more information on the free personal ad or low rates on commercial ads to: Desmodus, Inc., PO Box 11314, San Francisco, CA 94101 or phone 415-978- 5377.

BLACK FIRE M.C.

Those who know Ted Huber, President of Black Fire will be saddened to learn that he was struck by a truck in Syracuse in September, shortly after his return from Inferno XVI. The good news is that, despite broken bones and serious internal injuries, he is expected to survive . Recovery will take up to six months. Cards and letters should be sent c / o Black Fire, PO Box 354, University Station , Syracuse, NY 13210.

PEP PRICES CHALLENGED

Bob Schur of S&M Leathers reported that some men in the gay community were angry because People Exchanging Power (PEP) in both Alburgurgue, NM and Washington, DC allows women to attend functions free of charge, while males pay a donation. This procedure, according to Bob, is discriminatory. That problem lar leather club, Backstreet, in August. The club celebrated a weekend of anniversary with a S / M show featuring a man in a cage entertaining the lively full house. Sorry no photos of the caged man! was brought up at a recent meeting.

Why does PEP permit females to attend free? Definitely, this practice is not based on anti-male (or anti-gay) discriminatory practices, according to club official Nancy. The reality is: most women are not as attracted to sexual issues as men — as obsessed with sexual issues as men - as drawn to S / M or B&D as men. In addition , a woman does not need PEP to fulfill her fantasies, her dreams, her genitals. A woman seeking a dominant or submissive soul can merely place a personal ad and in a few weeks, she'll receive over a hundred letters from eager sincere men with respectable jobs and cars that run. If a straight male tries similar advertising for a mistress (or slave), he'll consider himself fortunate to receive even one legible note from a non-professional.

So, though the female PEP members do not need PEP, they do attend the gatherings. In so doing, they bring a sense of levity to the group - in short, they participate. Whether you agree with the reasoning or not, there it is. PEP has a good reputation and a sincere position within the leather community - good luck to them.

SOCIETY OF JANUS S / M ART FAIRE

In October the Society of Janus held their first S / M Art Faire in San Francisco. The faire consisted of artists, photographers dance and other live performances and entertainment from the one and only S.F. Precision Whip Drill Team who were excellent.

The unique experience was well attended and the artistic and educational videos, including a showing of Dances Sacred and Profane, were highly received. -

BOUND & GAGGED OUT -AT LAST

Over two years ago, the New York Bondage Club started soliciting collections of bondage correspondences as well as letters from men into bondage describing their personal adventures and experiences and, when possible, entire "bondage autobiographies." Their original intention was to put together a book and although they still hope to publish their book eventually, they are now publishing a small (51 / 2" X 81 / 2") magazine using the incredibly hot material accumulated. Subscriptions cost $21 in North America; $35 elsewhere sent first class. The first issue is due in November from The Outbound Press, Suite 729, 263-A West 19th St., New York, NY 10011

OUTCASTS NOW IN!

The newest National Leather Association's National Affiliate member organization is the California based women's group, Outcasts. Congratulations to both fine organizations .

KNIGHTS TEMPLAR

The San Francisco Knights Templar will conduct its third annual in-town run, Quake 8.7, in San Francisco on Thanksgiving weekend, 27-28 November 1987. This is an invitation-only run and the invitations are not transferable. For further information concerning eligibility to attend, fees or events, call Jim S. 415- 863-0476 or Jude F. 415- 861-4761.

LEATHE BOARD

ROCKY MOUNTAINS RUNS 1987

The Rocky Mountaineers Motorcycle Club of Colorado put on their sixteenth Golden Fleece Run this summer that according to reports was another tremendous success. The weather, the entertainment and the food are all reported to have been the best!

The Wasatch Leathermen's Falcon Flight again stood out as one of the more outstanding runs this year. A great bunch of guys who come together to succor one another on a very unique spot on this planet while the Falcon God watches overhead with approving eyes.

COMING … IN FEBRUARY 1988

For nearly ten years, Dun-geonMaster has been serving as the "technical and professional " journal for men into men and S / M.

Soon there will be a new journal, The Sandmutopia Guardian & Dungeon Journal, that will equally serve men and women, gay / lesbian, straight and bisexual. The first several issues will mainly present material from early DungeonMas-ters , revised to incorporate considerations for female anatomy , lesbian and heterosexual S / M — D / S relationships, and AIDS-aware safe sex practices. Carol Truscott, long-time columnist in the Society of Janus' Growing Pains, will use her experience and contacts with lesbians and bi- and heterosexual men and women to edit the new publication.

The "Guardian" will be the place for men and women into S / M to communicate. It will feature articles on S / M Safety; S / M philosophy and psychology ; buying and building S / M equipment and supplies; techniques for various kinds of equipment and scenes; news and information on S / M activi-ties ; personal ads … and much, much more. It will not have fantasy fiction. Like Dun-geonMaster , the writing will be as erotic and stimulating as possible while promoting safe, sane and consensual S / M.

Don't miss out - you will

BACKSTREET'S BIRTHDAY PARTY

Hunky models from the Body Tech shop in Chelsea showed off the latest leather goods at the second birthday party of England's most popu- have until December 1, 1987 to place a free personal ad in the "Guardian." Write for more information on the free personal ad or low rates on commercial ads to: Desmodus, Inc., PO Box 11314, San Francisco, CA 94101 or phone 415-978- 5377.

BLACK FIRE M.C.

Those who know Ted Huber, President of Black Fire will be saddened to learn that he was struck by a truck in Syracuse in September, shortly after his return from Inferno XVI. The good news is that, despite broken bones and serious internal injuries, he is expected to survive . Recovery will take up to six months. Cards and letters should be sent c / o Black Fire, PO Box 354, University Station , Syracuse, NY 13210.

PEP PRICES CHALLENGED

Bob Schur of S&M Leathers reported that some men in the gay community were angry because People Exchanging Power (PEP) in both Alburgurgue, NM and Washington, DC allows women to attend functions free of charge, while males pay a donation. This procedure, according to Bob, is discriminatory. That problem lar leather club, Backstreet, in August. The club celebrated a weekend of anniversary with a S / M show featuring a man in a cage entertaining the lively full house. Sorry no photos of the caged man! was brought up at a recent meeting.

Why does PEP permit females to attend free? Definitely, this practice is not based on anti-male (or anti-gay) discriminatory practices, according to club official Nancy. The reality is: most women are not as attracted to sexual issues as men — as obsessed with sexual issues as men - as drawn to S / M or B&D as men. In addition , a woman does not need PEP to fulfill her fantasies, her dreams, her genitals. A woman seeking a dominant or submissive soul can merely place a personal ad and in a few weeks, she'll receive over a hundred letters from eager sincere men with respectable jobs and cars that run. If a straight male tries similar advertising for a mistress (or slave), he'll consider himself fortunate to receive even one legible note from a non-professional.

So, though the female PEP members do not need PEP, they do attend the gatherings. In so doing, they bring a sense of levity to the group - in short, they participate. Whether you agree with the reasoning or not, there it is. PEP has a good reputation and a sincere position within the leather community - good luck to them.

SOCIETY OF JANUS S / M ART FAIRE

In October the Society of Janus held their first S / M Art Faire in San Francisco. The faire consisted of artists, photographers dance and other live performances and entertainment from the one and only S.F. Precision Whip Drill Team who were excellent.

The unique experience was well attended and the artistic and educational videos, including a showing of Dances Sacred and Profane, were highly received. -

BOUND & GAGGED OUT -AT LAST

Over two years ago, the New York Bondage Club started soliciting collections of bondage correspondences as well as letters from men into bondage describing their personal adventures and experiences and, when possible, entire "bondage autobiographies." Their original intention was to put together a book and although they still hope to publish their book eventually, they are now publishing a small (51 / 2" X 81 / 2") magazine using the incredibly hot material accumulated. Subscriptions cost $21 in North America; $35 elsewhere sent first class. The first issue is due in November from The Outbound Press, Suite 729, 263-A West 19th St., New York, NY 10011

OUTCASTS NOW IN!

The newest National Leather Association's National Affiliate member organization is the California based women's group, Outcasts. Congratulations to both fine organizations .

KNIGHTS TEMPLAR

The San Francisco Knights Templar will conduct its third annual in-town run, Quake 8.7, in San Francisco on Thanksgiving weekend, 27-28 November 1987. This is an invitation-only run and the invitations are not transferable. For further information concerning eligibility to attend, fees or events, call Jim S. 415- 863-0476 or Jude F. 415- 861-4761.

USA / CANADA CLUB LISTINGS

Clubs' names listed in bold face italic type are new to this listing or have an address change or correction. Club names listed in regular type, not bold face, have had mail returned from the address listed; if you can provide a correction, please do so.

(S / M) indicates a men's club with a primary interest in S / M; (W) indicates a women's leather-S / M club; (Mixed S / M) indicates an S / M club that includes men and women, hetero- homo- and bi-sexual; (JO) indicates men's Cartier, MS 39553 jerk off or masturbation clubs; (F) indicates a special interest (or fetish) club, such as ones specializing in fisting, PO Box 99 uniforms, bondage, wrestling, mud, etc.; (FN) is used for clubs that are primarily national or internations, whose main activity is publishing ads or a roster-they may or may not have periodic meetings; (FL) is used for clubs that primarily meet locally for active sessions, even though they may have a national or international membership. The nature of the special interest is usually evident in the name. No special indication is placed beside men's Leather-Levi-motorcycle or social clubs; (X) indicates those organizations that we want to list yet do not fit into any of the above categories. If any club wishes to change the way they are listed, please let us know.

Send new listings or changes to: Club Lists, PO Box 11314, San Francisco, CA 94101.

Academy Uniform Club (FL) 1044 23rd St. San Diego, CA 92102

Ace (W) PO Box 261 Annex Station Providence, RI 02901

Adventurers-Suncoast MC PO Box 8043 St. Petersburg, FL 33738

American Uniform Association (FN) PO Box 1037 Bowling Green Station New York, NY 10274

American Uniform Association (FL) PO Box 86088 N. Vancouver, BC V7L 4J5

Argonauts MC PO Box 3331 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Arizona Rangers MC PO Box 13074 Phoenix, AZ 85002

Atlantis MC PO Box 54748 Atlanta, GA 30308

Atons of Minneapolis PO Box 2032 Dodge Center, MN 55402

Avatar (S / M) 7869 Santa Monica Blvd. #316 Branding Iron Club Los Angeles, CA 90046 818-A-IN-LINE

Ball Club (FN) PO Box 1501 Pomona, CA 91769

Barbary Coasters MC PO Box 14251 Station 6 San Francisco, CA 94114

Basic Training 120 S. Pinecrest Bolingbrook, IL 60439

Beer Town Badgers PO Box 166

Black Fire (S / M) Box 354 Univer. Sta. Syracuse, NY 13210

Black Guard PO Box 8989 Minneapolis, MN 55418

Blackhawk MC 1025 12th St. Rock Island, IL 61201

Black Star MC c / o F. "Ollie" Stewart

1805 Briarcliff Rd. Winter Park, FL 32855

Blue Max Cycle Club PO Box 233 Main Station St. Louis, MO 63166

Blue Max MC PO Box 39522 Los Angeles, CA 90039

Boots (FN PO Box 48577 Bentall #3 595 Burrard St. Vancouver, BC V7X 1A3

Border Riders MC PO Box 21152 Seattle, WA 98111

Bound & Determined (W) PO Box 602 Hadley, MA 01035

PO Box 190471 Dallas, TX 75219

Briar Rose (W) PO Box 44 Westerville, OH 43081

The Brotherhood PO Box 1346 Tucson, AZ 85702

The Brotherhood PO Box 29345 Los Angeles, CA 90029

Brotherhood of Man MC PO Box 57 Hollywood, FL 33022

Brothers MC 484 May Street Jacksonville, FL 32204

Buccaneers MC 1901 Waters Edge Dr.

Buckingham, PA 18912 California Eagles MC

PO Box 280221 San Francisco, CA 94128-0221

California Motor Club Box 981 San Francisco, CA 94101

California Cyclemen MC 3143 33rd St. San Diego, CA 92104

Centaur MC PO Box 362 Arlington, VA 22210

Centurions LL MC c / o Tradewinds 717 Franklin Rd. Roanoke, VA 24061

Centurions of Columbus PO Box 09208 Columbus, OH 43209

Chicago Cossacks PO Box 2512 Chicago, IL 60690

Chicago Hellfire Club (S / M) 3920 Cedar Springs (Windy City Hellfire Club, Inc.) PO Box 5426 Chicago, IL 60680

Cigar Studs (FN) PO Box 14344 San Antonio, TX 78212

Cin City Cycle Club PO Box 1151 Cincinnati, OH 45202

City Bikers MC PO Box 9816 Denver, CO 80209

The Club (S / M) PO Box 1292 Omaha, NE 68101-1292

Club Mud (FN) Box 277 Rio Nido, CA 95471

Colorado MC 441 Knox Ct. Denver, CO 80204

Colt 45s PO Box 66804 Houston, TX 77006

Committee to Preserve our Excelsior MC Sexual & Civil Liberties (X) PO Box 1592 San Francisco, CA 94101

Conductors Leather Levi PO Box 40261 Nashville, TN 37204

Conquistadors MC Inc. PO Box 5591 Orlando, FL 32805

Constantines MC PO Box 4964 San Francisco, CA 94101

Copperstate Leathermen's Association PO Box 44051 Phoenix, AZ 85064

Cornhaulers 4161 / 2 E. 5th St. Des Moines, IA 50309

Corps of Rangers PO Box 1952 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Corpus Christi MC PO Box 3532 Corpus Christi, TX 78404

Country Men PO Box 1362 Deaborn, MI 48126

C.S.C.M.C. 1320 N. Stanley Los Angeles, CA 90046

D.A.D.S. (FN) PO Box 573 Winfield, IL 60190

Dallas MC PO Box 19525 Dallas, TX 75219 de Sade and Men PO Box 71426 New Orleans LA 70172

Desert Leathermen PO Box 1586 Tucson, AZ 85702

Disciples of de Sade (S / M) Dallas, TX 75219

Disciples of De Sade (SM) 3121 Hamilton Way Los Angeles, CA 90026

Dreizehn (S / M) PO Box 1486 Boston, MA 02117

Eagle MC 3311 Liddy Ave. West Palm Beach, FL 33407

Empire City MC PO Box 2543 New York, NY 10001

Entre Nous MC PO Box 2063 Boston, MA 02106

E.N.I.G.M.A (FN) 2329 N. Leavitt Chicago, IL 60647

The Eulenspiegel Society (Mixed 5 / M) PO Box 2783 Grand Central Station New York, NY 10163

PO Box 31 New York, NY 10113

Falcons MC PO Box 23023 Kansas City, MO 64141

Fall Festival Association, Miami Chapter (FL) PO Box 500 Ft. Lauderdale, FL 33302

NHUS rnny

MR. EUROPE LEATHER 1987

Drummer welcomes the new Mr. Europe Leather 1987 to the halls of remembered leather men!

On September 8, 1987, at Bauernhaus, Hamburg, West Germany, Andrew Day and Horst Menzen of Mr. Chaps

Leather Works produced the Mr. Europe Leather contest and got another winner. Vicente Jiminez from Barcelona, Spain became the new Mr. Europe Leather 1987. Vicente is 26 years old, holder of the title of Mr. Barcelona 1987 and will represent Europe at the Inter-

CLUB LISTINGS

FFA Tampa Bay (FL) 1230 East Mohawk Ave. Tampa, FL 33604

FFA Washington, DC (FL) PO Box 461 Washington, DC 20044

Faucon MC C.P. 833 Station A Montreal, P.Q. H3C 2V5 Canada

The 15 Association (S / M) PO Box 421302 San Francisco, CA 94142

The Foot Fraternity (FN) PO Box 24102 Cleveland, OH 44124

Gateway MC PO Box 14055 St. Louis, MO 63178

Gladiator MC PO Box 2194 Toluca Lake, CA 91602

GMSMA (S / M) Mail: 132 East 24th St. New York, NY 10011 Meetings: 208 W. 13 St.

Gaucho MC 3219B W. Obispo St. Tampa, FL 33609

Griffins MC 214 N. Market Wilmington, DE 19801

Harbor Masters, Inc. PO Box 4044 Portland, ME 04101

Hartford Colts MC PO Box 12201 Blue Hills Station Hartford, CT 06112

Hearts of the West MC PO Box 674 Sante Fe, NM 87504-0674

Hijos del Sol 3014 Truman N6 Albuqurque, NM 87110

AWS PO Box 20147 London Terrace Station New York, NY 10011

Houston MC c / o Mary's Lounge 1022 Westheimer Rd Houston, TX 77006

Illustrated Men (FN) Box 7091 Burbank, CA 91510

132 West 24th St. Box 410 New York, NY 1001

International Mr. Leather, Inc. (X) 5025 N. Clark St. Chicago, IL 60640

International Ms Leather, Inc. (X) PO Box 421915 San Francisco, CA 94142

International Roadmasters 3146 Grayson Ferndale, MI 48220

Iron Cross MC PO Box 1721, Station A Montreal, Quebec, H3C 3A5

Iron Guard NYC PO Box 291 Village Station New York, NY 10014

Iron Tigers MC c / o Jim Goodwine 517 W. Almeria Phoenix, AZ 85003

It's 'Bout Time 616 N. 4th Ave. Tucson, AZ 85702

Kansas City Pioneers PO Box 23025 Kansas City, MO 64141

Kingmasters MC PO Box 236 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Knights D'Orleans PO Box 50812 New Orleans, LA 70150

Kinghts of Leather (W) PO Box 10601 Minneapolis, MN 55440

Knights of Malta MC 737 N. Edinburgh Ave. Los Angeles, CA 90046

Knights of Malta MC Central Valley Chapter PO Box 4162 Fresno, CA 93744

Knights of Malta MC Pony Express 1818 P St. #12 Sacramento, CA 95814

Knights of Malta MC Stockmen Chapter PO Box 9386 Denver, CO 80209

Knights of Malta MC PO Box 7726 Reno, NV 89502

Knights of Malta MC Cascade Chapter PO Box 8375 Portland, OR 97205

Knights of Malta MC Jet Chapter PO Box 21052 Seattle, WA 98111

Knights of the Second Liberty (S / M) 12226 Victory Blvd., #137 North Hollywood, CA 91606

Knights Templar (S / M) PO Box 14073 Interchain (FN) San Francisco, CA 94142-2151

Lancers MC PO Box 51475 New Orleans, LA 70151

The Leather Guild (FL) 219 Guerrero San Francisco, CA 94103

Leather and Lace (W) PO Box 13467 Denver, CO 80218

Leather and Lace (W) PO Box 54646 Los Angeles, CA 90054

USA / CANADA

Der Ledermeister PO Box 263 Downtown Station Syracuse, NY 13201

LFPT (W) PO Box 21542 Washington, DC 20009

LL Steelworkers PO Box 40065 Nashville, TN 37204

Loboc MC PO Box 833 Long Beach, CA 90801-0833

Long Island Spuds MC PO Box 26 Massapequa Park, NY 11762 LSM (W)

PO Box 993 Murray Hill Station New York, NY 10156

M.A.F.I.A. (FL) PO Box 2230 Chicago, IL 60690-2230

Meisters der Manner c / o Dean P. Murray 704 Bon Air St. Lakeland, FL 33805

Men of Dungeons (S / M) PO Box 780242 Dallas, TX 75378

Men of Leather 1268 Madison Ave. Memphis, TN 38104

M.L.L.A. 6204 Magnolia Lane Lakeland, FL 33805

Motorcyclemen of New Mexico PO Box 35844 Albuqurque, NM 87176-5844

National Leather Association (X) PO Box 17463 Seattle, WA 98107

National Tattoo Association (FN) PO Box 2063 New Hyde Park, NY 11040-0701

New World Rubber Men (FL) c / o Bill Bailey 1044 23rd St.

San Diego, CA 92102 New York Bondage Club (FL) PO Box 204

New York, NY 10028 New York Wrestling Club (FN)

59 West 10th St. New York, NY 10011 Nimbus c / o Douglas Dunes Blue Star Highway Douglas, MI 49406

Nine Plus Club, Inc. PO Box 1267 Ansonia Sta. New York, NY 10023

Oedipus MC PO Box 451 Hollywood, CA 90028

Omaha Meatpackers PO Box 6474 Elmwood Station Omaha, NE 68104

The Original Leathermasters Club of Los Angeles (S / M) PO Box 93643 Los Angeles, CA 90093

O.R.R.O.C. PO Box 14033 Chicago, IL 60614

Outcasts (W) PO Box 31266 San Francisco, CA 94131-0266 Pacific Coast MC PO Box 954 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Pegasus, MC PO Box 3957 Wichita, KS 67201

Pennsmen PO Box 401 Harrisburg, PA 17108

People Exchanging Power Washington DC Chapter (Mixed S / M) PO Box 2308 Silver Springs, MD 20902

People Exchanging Power Albuqurque Chapter (Mixed S / M) PO Box 332 Edhewood, NM 87015

Philadelphians MC PO Box 20720 Philadelphia, PA 19138

Phoenix LL Club c / o Greg Adams 701 NE 81 St. Miami, FL 33138

Pittsburgh MC c / o Gus Coleola 5133 Saltsburg Rd. Verona, PA 15147

Pocono Warriors PO Box 381 263A W. 19th St. #162 New York, NY 10011

Portland Power & Trust (W) Portland, OR 97202

Power Circle (W) PO Box 3284 Santa Cruz, CA 95063

Praetorians PO Box 23 New York, NY 10014

Queen City Quordinators (X) PO Box 221841 Charlotte, NC 28222

Regiment of the Black and Tans (FL) PO Box 875616 Los Angeles, CA 90087-0716

Renaissance Men PO Box 1001 Trolley Station Detroit, MI 48231

Rivermen 1417 Logani SE Grand Rapids, MI 49506

Rochester Rams MC PO Box 1727 Rochester, NY 14603 national Mr. Leather contest in Chicago in 1988.

A 23 year old ex-American GI, Ray Lamb, who discharged in West Germany, was winner of 1st runner-up. He was sponsored by the Frankfurter Leather Club, Frankfurt, West Germany.

Werner Kostner took 2nd runner-up. He hails from Berlin , West Germany.

The contest had 14 contestants from seven European countries: Spain, Belgium, Holland , Switzerland, Germany, Finland and Norway, the widest range of entries in the four-year history of the contest. This was the first time that the contest was run under private sponsorship with judges and was financially supported by Gay Businesses from all over Europe.

A special presentation of the Gordon Hueter Award for Lifetime Achievement in the Gav Community was made at the contest. This award, developed by Horst and Andrew of Mr. Chaps Leather Works, is presented each year to honor one person for their work, dedication and faith to the gay community . The award went to

CLUB LISTINGS

Club Listings Overseas will reappear in Drummer 111.

Texas MC PO Box 57462 Dallas, TX 75207

Thebans MC c / o Don Gibson 950 NW 7th St. Rd. Miami, FL 33136

The Tradesmen PO Box 36712 Charlotte, NC 28204

Box 32798 Detroit, MI 48232 Tucson Knight Owls

PO Box 2332 Tucson, AZ 85702 TucsonLevi-Leathermen

PO Box 1774 Tucson, AZ 85702

Twin Cities S / M Alliance PO Box 825 Minneapolis, MN 55440

Two Wheelers of Omaha c / o Tony Zamudio 305 Turner Blvd. #8 Omaha, NE 68131

U.F.O. c / o Walter Carlton III 1531 S. Madison Ave. Tulsa, OK 74120

Urania (W) PO Box 23 Somerville, MA 92131-0266

Vancouver Activists in SM (VASM) (S / M) PO Box 2204 New Westminster, BC V3L 5A5

Vanguards MC PO Box 2308 Philadelphia, PA 19103

Vikings MC PO Box 1323 Cambridge, MA 02142

Warlocks MC PO Box 2484 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Warriors MC PO Box 2484 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Wasatch Leathermen MC PO Box 11314 Salt Lake City, UT 84110-1311

We Enjoy Shaving PO Box 6316 Reno, NV 89513

Wheels MC PO Box 615 New York, NY 10001

Wildcats MC c / o Boiler Room 111 W. Tazewell St. Norfolk, VA 23510 c / o Jacques Carle Windy City Bondage Club (FL) PO Box268767 Chicago, IL 60626

Zodiacs, MC PO Box 48144 Vancouver, BC V7X 1N8

Rocky Mountaineers MC PO Box 2629 Denver, CO 80201

Rodeo Riders 3516 N. Bosworth Chicago, IL 60657

Rodeo Riders MC PO Box 780242 Corpus Christi, TX 78404

Saber MC of Florida, Inc. PO Box 030367 Ft. Lauderdale, FL 33303

Saddleback MC PO Box 561 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Sam Browne Society (FL) PO Box 8293 Phoenix, AZ 85066-8293

San Andreas MC PO Box 3945 Orange, CA 92665

San Antonio Mustangs PO Box 12551 San Antonio, TX 77006

San Franciscans PO Box 683 San Francisco, CA 94101

San Francisco Bondage Club (FL) 1800 Market St. #107

San Francisco, CA 94102

San Francisco Jacks(10) 2336 Market St. K#127 San Francisco, CA 94114

San Francisco Precision Whip Drill Team(X) San Francisco, CA

Satyricons, MC PO Box 19058 Las Vegas, NV 89132

Satyrs MC PO Box 1137 Los Angeles, CA 90078

918 E. Pike St. Seattle, WA Selectmen of Detroit

Detroit, MI 48231 Shelix (W) PO Box 416 Florence Station

Shipmates of Baltimore PO Box 13434 Baltimore, MD 21203

SigMa (S / M) PO Box 30651 Bethesda, MD 20814-0651

Silver Star MC PO Box 15152 Milwaukee, WI 53215

Society of Janus (MixedS / M) Southern Calif. Chapter 2554 Lincoln Blvd., Suite 381 Marina del Rey, CA 90291

Society of Janus (Mixed S / M) PO Box 6794 San Francisco, CA 94101

Somandros(S / M) 7984 Santa Monica Blvd. #109 Los Angeles, CA 90046

Sons of Apollo PO Box 7281 Phoenix, AZ 85011

Spartan MC 458 L'Enfant Plaza PO Box 23832 Washington, DC 20026

SPASM (W) PO Box 77270 Houston, TX 77270

Spearhead 113 Scadding Ave. Toronto, Ont. H5A 4H8

Spirit of St. Louis L-L PO Box 12207 Souland Sta. St. Louis, MO 63157

Stallions c / o The Leather Stallion 2203 St. Clair Ave. Cleveland, OH 44114

Steel Barons PO Box 3553 Pittsburgh, PA 15230 Stiletos MC c / o Phoneix Bar 1440 San Marco Blvd. Jacksonville, FL 32207

Stingrays MC PO Box 1643 Ft. Lauderdale, FL 33302

2027 Mayo St. Hollywood, FL 33020 Sunshine Athletic Assoc.

Wilton Manors, FL 33311 Tampa Bay Blazers c / o Bear Tucker

T-Bolts MC 49 Bartlett Ave. Norwalk, CT 06850

Texas Cadre PO Box 1041 Arlington, TX 76010

PAGE 95

USA / CANADA CLUB LISTINGS

Clubs' names listed in bold face italic type are new to this listing or have an address change or correction. Club names listed in regular type, not bold face, have had mail returned from the address listed; if you can provide a correction, please do so.

(S / M) indicates a men's club with a primary interest in S / M; (W) indicates a women's leather-S / M club; (Mixed S / M) indicates an S / M club that includes men and women, hetero- homo- and bi-sexual; (JO) indicates men's Cartier, MS 39553 jerk off or masturbation clubs; (F) indicates a special interest (or fetish) club, such as ones specializing in fisting, PO Box 99 uniforms, bondage, wrestling, mud, etc.; (FN) is used for clubs that are primarily national or internations, whose main activity is publishing ads or a roster-they may or may not have periodic meetings; (FL) is used for clubs that primarily meet locally for active sessions, even though they may have a national or international membership. The nature of the special interest is usually evident in the name. No special indication is placed beside men's Leather-Levi-motorcycle or social clubs; (X) indicates those organizations that we want to list yet do not fit into any of the above categories. If any club wishes to change the way they are listed, please let us know.

Send new listings or changes to: Club Lists, PO Box 11314, San Francisco, CA 94101.

Academy Uniform Club (FL) 1044 23rd St. San Diego, CA 92102

Ace (W) PO Box 261 Annex Station Providence, RI 02901

Adventurers-Suncoast MC PO Box 8043 St. Petersburg, FL 33738

American Uniform Association (FN) PO Box 1037 Bowling Green Station New York, NY 10274

American Uniform Association (FL) PO Box 86088 N. Vancouver, BC V7L 4J5

Argonauts MC PO Box 3331 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Arizona Rangers MC PO Box 13074 Phoenix, AZ 85002

Atlantis MC PO Box 54748 Atlanta, GA 30308

Atons of Minneapolis PO Box 2032 Dodge Center, MN 55402

Avatar (S / M) 7869 Santa Monica Blvd. #316 Branding Iron Club Los Angeles, CA 90046 818-A-IN-LINE

Ball Club (FN) PO Box 1501 Pomona, CA 91769

Barbary Coasters MC PO Box 14251 Station 6 San Francisco, CA 94114

Basic Training 120 S. Pinecrest Bolingbrook, IL 60439

Beer Town Badgers PO Box 166

Black Fire (S / M) Box 354 Univer. Sta. Syracuse, NY 13210

Black Guard PO Box 8989 Minneapolis, MN 55418

Blackhawk MC 1025 12th St. Rock Island, IL 61201

Black Star MC c / o F. "Ollie" Stewart

1805 Briarcliff Rd. Winter Park, FL 32855

Blue Max Cycle Club PO Box 233 Main Station St. Louis, MO 63166

Blue Max MC PO Box 39522 Los Angeles, CA 90039

Boots (FN PO Box 48577 Bentall #3 595 Burrard St. Vancouver, BC V7X 1A3

Border Riders MC PO Box 21152 Seattle, WA 98111

Bound & Determined (W) PO Box 602 Hadley, MA 01035

PO Box 190471 Dallas, TX 75219

Briar Rose (W) PO Box 44 Westerville, OH 43081

The Brotherhood PO Box 1346 Tucson, AZ 85702

The Brotherhood PO Box 29345 Los Angeles, CA 90029

Brotherhood of Man MC PO Box 57 Hollywood, FL 33022

Brothers MC 484 May Street Jacksonville, FL 32204

Buccaneers MC 1901 Waters Edge Dr.

Buckingham, PA 18912 California Eagles MC

PO Box 280221 San Francisco, CA 94128-0221

California Motor Club Box 981 San Francisco, CA 94101

California Cyclemen MC 3143 33rd St. San Diego, CA 92104

Centaur MC PO Box 362 Arlington, VA 22210

Centurions LL MC c / o Tradewinds 717 Franklin Rd. Roanoke, VA 24061

Centurions of Columbus PO Box 09208 Columbus, OH 43209

Chicago Cossacks PO Box 2512 Chicago, IL 60690

Chicago Hellfire Club (S / M) 3920 Cedar Springs (Windy City Hellfire Club, Inc.) PO Box 5426 Chicago, IL 60680

Cigar Studs (FN) PO Box 14344 San Antonio, TX 78212

Cin City Cycle Club PO Box 1151 Cincinnati, OH 45202

City Bikers MC PO Box 9816 Denver, CO 80209

The Club (S / M) PO Box 1292 Omaha, NE 68101-1292

Club Mud (FN) Box 277 Rio Nido, CA 95471

Colorado MC 441 Knox Ct. Denver, CO 80204

Colt 45s PO Box 66804 Houston, TX 77006

Committee to Preserve our Excelsior MC Sexual & Civil Liberties (X) PO Box 1592 San Francisco, CA 94101

Conductors Leather Levi PO Box 40261 Nashville, TN 37204

Conquistadors MC Inc. PO Box 5591 Orlando, FL 32805

Constantines MC PO Box 4964 San Francisco, CA 94101

Copperstate Leathermen's Association PO Box 44051 Phoenix, AZ 85064

Cornhaulers 4161 / 2 E. 5th St. Des Moines, IA 50309

Corps of Rangers PO Box 1952 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Corpus Christi MC PO Box 3532 Corpus Christi, TX 78404

Country Men PO Box 1362 Deaborn, MI 48126

C.S.C.M.C. 1320 N. Stanley Los Angeles, CA 90046

D.A.D.S. (FN) PO Box 573 Winfield, IL 60190

Dallas MC PO Box 19525 Dallas, TX 75219 de Sade and Men PO Box 71426 New Orleans LA 70172

Desert Leathermen PO Box 1586 Tucson, AZ 85702

Disciples of de Sade (S / M) Dallas, TX 75219

Disciples of De Sade (SM) 3121 Hamilton Way Los Angeles, CA 90026

Dreizehn (S / M) PO Box 1486 Boston, MA 02117

Eagle MC 3311 Liddy Ave. West Palm Beach, FL 33407

Empire City MC PO Box 2543 New York, NY 10001

Entre Nous MC PO Box 2063 Boston, MA 02106

E.N.I.G.M.A (FN) 2329 N. Leavitt Chicago, IL 60647

The Eulenspiegel Society (Mixed 5 / M) PO Box 2783 Grand Central Station New York, NY 10163

PO Box 31 New York, NY 10113

Falcons MC PO Box 23023 Kansas City, MO 64141

Fall Festival Association, Miami Chapter (FL) PO Box 500 Ft. Lauderdale, FL 33302

NHUS rnny

MR. EUROPE LEATHER 1987

Drummer welcomes the new Mr. Europe Leather 1987 to the halls of remembered leather men!

On September 8, 1987, at Bauernhaus, Hamburg, West Germany, Andrew Day and Horst Menzen of Mr. Chaps

Leather Works produced the Mr. Europe Leather contest and got another winner. Vicente Jiminez from Barcelona, Spain became the new Mr. Europe Leather 1987. Vicente is 26 years old, holder of the title of Mr. Barcelona 1987 and will represent Europe at the Inter-

CLUB LISTINGS

FFA Tampa Bay (FL) 1230 East Mohawk Ave. Tampa, FL 33604

FFA Washington, DC (FL) PO Box 461 Washington, DC 20044

Faucon MC C.P. 833 Station A Montreal, P.Q. H3C 2V5 Canada

The 15 Association (S / M) PO Box 421302 San Francisco, CA 94142

The Foot Fraternity (FN) PO Box 24102 Cleveland, OH 44124

Gateway MC PO Box 14055 St. Louis, MO 63178

Gladiator MC PO Box 2194 Toluca Lake, CA 91602

GMSMA (S / M) Mail: 132 East 24th St. New York, NY 10011 Meetings: 208 W. 13 St.

Gaucho MC 3219B W. Obispo St. Tampa, FL 33609

Griffins MC 214 N. Market Wilmington, DE 19801

Harbor Masters, Inc. PO Box 4044 Portland, ME 04101

Hartford Colts MC PO Box 12201 Blue Hills Station Hartford, CT 06112

Hearts of the West MC PO Box 674 Sante Fe, NM 87504-0674

Hijos del Sol 3014 Truman N6 Albuqurque, NM 87110

AWS PO Box 20147 London Terrace Station New York, NY 10011

Houston MC c / o Mary's Lounge 1022 Westheimer Rd Houston, TX 77006

Illustrated Men (FN) Box 7091 Burbank, CA 91510

132 West 24th St. Box 410 New York, NY 1001

International Mr. Leather, Inc. (X) 5025 N. Clark St. Chicago, IL 60640

International Ms Leather, Inc. (X) PO Box 421915 San Francisco, CA 94142

International Roadmasters 3146 Grayson Ferndale, MI 48220

Iron Cross MC PO Box 1721, Station A Montreal, Quebec, H3C 3A5

Iron Guard NYC PO Box 291 Village Station New York, NY 10014

Iron Tigers MC c / o Jim Goodwine 517 W. Almeria Phoenix, AZ 85003

It's 'Bout Time 616 N. 4th Ave. Tucson, AZ 85702

Kansas City Pioneers PO Box 23025 Kansas City, MO 64141

Kingmasters MC PO Box 236 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Knights D'Orleans PO Box 50812 New Orleans, LA 70150

Kinghts of Leather (W) PO Box 10601 Minneapolis, MN 55440

Knights of Malta MC 737 N. Edinburgh Ave. Los Angeles, CA 90046

Knights of Malta MC Central Valley Chapter PO Box 4162 Fresno, CA 93744

Knights of Malta MC Pony Express 1818 P St. #12 Sacramento, CA 95814

Knights of Malta MC Stockmen Chapter PO Box 9386 Denver, CO 80209

Knights of Malta MC PO Box 7726 Reno, NV 89502

Knights of Malta MC Cascade Chapter PO Box 8375 Portland, OR 97205

Knights of Malta MC Jet Chapter PO Box 21052 Seattle, WA 98111

Knights of the Second Liberty (S / M) 12226 Victory Blvd., #137 North Hollywood, CA 91606

Knights Templar (S / M) PO Box 14073 Interchain (FN) San Francisco, CA 94142-2151

Lancers MC PO Box 51475 New Orleans, LA 70151

The Leather Guild (FL) 219 Guerrero San Francisco, CA 94103

Leather and Lace (W) PO Box 13467 Denver, CO 80218

Leather and Lace (W) PO Box 54646 Los Angeles, CA 90054

USA / CANADA

Der Ledermeister PO Box 263 Downtown Station Syracuse, NY 13201

LFPT (W) PO Box 21542 Washington, DC 20009

LL Steelworkers PO Box 40065 Nashville, TN 37204

Loboc MC PO Box 833 Long Beach, CA 90801-0833

Long Island Spuds MC PO Box 26 Massapequa Park, NY 11762 LSM (W)

PO Box 993 Murray Hill Station New York, NY 10156

M.A.F.I.A. (FL) PO Box 2230 Chicago, IL 60690-2230

Meisters der Manner c / o Dean P. Murray 704 Bon Air St. Lakeland, FL 33805

Men of Dungeons (S / M) PO Box 780242 Dallas, TX 75378

Men of Leather 1268 Madison Ave. Memphis, TN 38104

M.L.L.A. 6204 Magnolia Lane Lakeland, FL 33805

Motorcyclemen of New Mexico PO Box 35844 Albuqurque, NM 87176-5844

National Leather Association (X) PO Box 17463 Seattle, WA 98107

National Tattoo Association (FN) PO Box 2063 New Hyde Park, NY 11040-0701

New World Rubber Men (FL) c / o Bill Bailey 1044 23rd St.

San Diego, CA 92102 New York Bondage Club (FL) PO Box 204

New York, NY 10028 New York Wrestling Club (FN)

59 West 10th St. New York, NY 10011 Nimbus c / o Douglas Dunes Blue Star Highway Douglas, MI 49406

Nine Plus Club, Inc. PO Box 1267 Ansonia Sta. New York, NY 10023

Oedipus MC PO Box 451 Hollywood, CA 90028

Omaha Meatpackers PO Box 6474 Elmwood Station Omaha, NE 68104

The Original Leathermasters Club of Los Angeles (S / M) PO Box 93643 Los Angeles, CA 90093

O.R.R.O.C. PO Box 14033 Chicago, IL 60614

Outcasts (W) PO Box 31266 San Francisco, CA 94131-0266 Pacific Coast MC PO Box 954 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Pegasus, MC PO Box 3957 Wichita, KS 67201

Pennsmen PO Box 401 Harrisburg, PA 17108

People Exchanging Power Washington DC Chapter (Mixed S / M) PO Box 2308 Silver Springs, MD 20902

People Exchanging Power Albuqurque Chapter (Mixed S / M) PO Box 332 Edhewood, NM 87015

Philadelphians MC PO Box 20720 Philadelphia, PA 19138

Phoenix LL Club c / o Greg Adams 701 NE 81 St. Miami, FL 33138

Pittsburgh MC c / o Gus Coleola 5133 Saltsburg Rd. Verona, PA 15147

Pocono Warriors PO Box 381 263A W. 19th St. #162 New York, NY 10011

Portland Power & Trust (W) Portland, OR 97202

Power Circle (W) PO Box 3284 Santa Cruz, CA 95063

Praetorians PO Box 23 New York, NY 10014

Queen City Quordinators (X) PO Box 221841 Charlotte, NC 28222

Regiment of the Black and Tans (FL) PO Box 875616 Los Angeles, CA 90087-0716

Renaissance Men PO Box 1001 Trolley Station Detroit, MI 48231

Rivermen 1417 Logani SE Grand Rapids, MI 49506

Rochester Rams MC PO Box 1727 Rochester, NY 14603 national Mr. Leather contest in Chicago in 1988.

A 23 year old ex-American GI, Ray Lamb, who discharged in West Germany, was winner of 1st runner-up. He was sponsored by the Frankfurter Leather Club, Frankfurt, West Germany.

Werner Kostner took 2nd runner-up. He hails from Berlin , West Germany.

The contest had 14 contestants from seven European countries: Spain, Belgium, Holland , Switzerland, Germany, Finland and Norway, the widest range of entries in the four-year history of the contest. This was the first time that the contest was run under private sponsorship with judges and was financially supported by Gay Businesses from all over Europe.

A special presentation of the Gordon Hueter Award for Lifetime Achievement in the Gav Community was made at the contest. This award, developed by Horst and Andrew of Mr. Chaps Leather Works, is presented each year to honor one person for their work, dedication and faith to the gay community . The award went to

CLUB LISTINGS

Club Listings Overseas will reappear in Drummer 111.

Texas MC PO Box 57462 Dallas, TX 75207

Thebans MC c / o Don Gibson 950 NW 7th St. Rd. Miami, FL 33136

The Tradesmen PO Box 36712 Charlotte, NC 28204

Box 32798 Detroit, MI 48232 Tucson Knight Owls

PO Box 2332 Tucson, AZ 85702 TucsonLevi-Leathermen

PO Box 1774 Tucson, AZ 85702

Twin Cities S / M Alliance PO Box 825 Minneapolis, MN 55440

Two Wheelers of Omaha c / o Tony Zamudio 305 Turner Blvd. #8 Omaha, NE 68131

U.F.O. c / o Walter Carlton III 1531 S. Madison Ave. Tulsa, OK 74120

Urania (W) PO Box 23 Somerville, MA 92131-0266

Vancouver Activists in SM (VASM) (S / M) PO Box 2204 New Westminster, BC V3L 5A5

Vanguards MC PO Box 2308 Philadelphia, PA 19103

Vikings MC PO Box 1323 Cambridge, MA 02142

Warlocks MC PO Box 2484 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Warriors MC PO Box 2484 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Wasatch Leathermen MC PO Box 11314 Salt Lake City, UT 84110-1311

We Enjoy Shaving PO Box 6316 Reno, NV 89513

Wheels MC PO Box 615 New York, NY 10001

Wildcats MC c / o Boiler Room 111 W. Tazewell St. Norfolk, VA 23510 c / o Jacques Carle Windy City Bondage Club (FL) PO Box268767 Chicago, IL 60626

Zodiacs, MC PO Box 48144 Vancouver, BC V7X 1N8

Rocky Mountaineers MC PO Box 2629 Denver, CO 80201

Rodeo Riders 3516 N. Bosworth Chicago, IL 60657

Rodeo Riders MC PO Box 780242 Corpus Christi, TX 78404

Saber MC of Florida, Inc. PO Box 030367 Ft. Lauderdale, FL 33303

Saddleback MC PO Box 561 Los Angeles, CA 90028

Sam Browne Society (FL) PO Box 8293 Phoenix, AZ 85066-8293

San Andreas MC PO Box 3945 Orange, CA 92665

San Antonio Mustangs PO Box 12551 San Antonio, TX 77006

San Franciscans PO Box 683 San Francisco, CA 94101

San Francisco Bondage Club (FL) 1800 Market St. #107

San Francisco, CA 94102

San Francisco Jacks(10) 2336 Market St. K#127 San Francisco, CA 94114

San Francisco Precision Whip Drill Team(X) San Francisco, CA

Satyricons, MC PO Box 19058 Las Vegas, NV 89132

Satyrs MC PO Box 1137 Los Angeles, CA 90078

918 E. Pike St. Seattle, WA Selectmen of Detroit

Detroit, MI 48231 Shelix (W) PO Box 416 Florence Station

Shipmates of Baltimore PO Box 13434 Baltimore, MD 21203

SigMa (S / M) PO Box 30651 Bethesda, MD 20814-0651

Silver Star MC PO Box 15152 Milwaukee, WI 53215

Society of Janus (MixedS / M) Southern Calif. Chapter 2554 Lincoln Blvd., Suite 381 Marina del Rey, CA 90291

Society of Janus (Mixed S / M) PO Box 6794 San Francisco, CA 94101

Somandros(S / M) 7984 Santa Monica Blvd. #109 Los Angeles, CA 90046

Sons of Apollo PO Box 7281 Phoenix, AZ 85011

Spartan MC 458 L'Enfant Plaza PO Box 23832 Washington, DC 20026

SPASM (W) PO Box 77270 Houston, TX 77270

Spearhead 113 Scadding Ave. Toronto, Ont. H5A 4H8

Spirit of St. Louis L-L PO Box 12207 Souland Sta. St. Louis, MO 63157

Stallions c / o The Leather Stallion 2203 St. Clair Ave. Cleveland, OH 44114

Steel Barons PO Box 3553 Pittsburgh, PA 15230 Stiletos MC c / o Phoneix Bar 1440 San Marco Blvd. Jacksonville, FL 32207

Stingrays MC PO Box 1643 Ft. Lauderdale, FL 33302

2027 Mayo St. Hollywood, FL 33020 Sunshine Athletic Assoc.

Wilton Manors, FL 33311 Tampa Bay Blazers c / o Bear Tucker

T-Bolts MC 49 Bartlett Ave. Norwalk, CT 06850

Texas Cadre PO Box 1041 Arlington, TX 76010

PAGE 95

A FESTIVE FOURTH FOR CENTAUR M.C.

The Centaur M.C. will sponsor the Fourth Mr. Mid-Atlantic Leatherman contest this year as part of its annual Leather Weekend celebration. The contest theme this year is "Come to the Winners' Circle."

The contest itself (whose winner becomes an entrant in the International Mr. Leather finals in Chicago as did last year's winner, Michel Rousse, who came in 1st runner-up in IML '87) draws participants from the length of the Eastern seaboard and Canada. Over 500 leathermen are expected in the nation's capital in Janu- ary for the weekend. Contact the Centaur M.C. by writing for more information to: PO Box 912, Harrisburg, PA.17108-0912

tell 'em Drummer sent ya!

DID YOU SEE … ?

GMSMA has begun its autumn meetings and a new mailing called DID YOU SEE … ? The Did You See is a collection of newspaper or magazine articles concerning AIDS / gay issues / discrimination / etc. Feel free to send clippings to Jeff Bowels at the Community Involvement Committee of the GMSMA, 108 West 17th #5,

New York, NY 10011-5417.

Then send a copy to Drummer for our "Report" or "Tough Shit" columns.

D C WRESTLING CLUB

DCWC began as a SigMa Special Interest Group (SIG) and has gone on to develop a style, program, and personality of its own. Not the least of its appeals is a separate monthly newsletter which, in addition to news and announcements, often contains some VERY hot stories and reminiscences. The DCWC meets on the 2nd and 4th Saturdays of the month from 2-5:30 P.M. for "noncompetitive , free-style recreational wrestling" and then the evening of the third Friday of the month for oil / nude / erotic encounters . Write Boxholder, PO Box 1205, Washington, DC 20013 for details and / or to arrange attendance.

MORE WRESTLING TO COME!

Drummer's new fetish section will feature wrestling in issue 115, so send in those wrestling Tough Customer photos , ads and other information readers will get off on.

Discipline III, Disciples of DeSade, Dallas

6-8

Harbor Masters 5th Anniv. Portland, ME

SM House party, Knights Templar; San

7 Francisco.

SLM-Stockholm—Rubber Party.

8

10

National Leather Assoc.— Election of officers.

Boots and Gloves, GMSMA, New York City.

11

Kinky Cafeteria, Avatar, Los Angeles.

Dreizehn meeting, Boston.

13-15 •Companions—11th Anniversary; Phila., PA.

Mr. New York Leather Contest, NYC

14

Clubhouse party, Chicago Hellfire Club.

Clubhouse party, The 15; San Francisco.

•NY Bondage Club—Turkey Truss Contest 18

Motorcycle Mystique, SM Gays, London.

21

MSC-Finland—Slave Market.

Motorsportfreunde, Koeln's 5. Geburtstag.

25

Thanksgiving Eve Dessert Social, GMSMA;

New York.

Thanksgiving — stuff it!

MS-Panther Koln — Leather Disco—AB 21

26 UHR IM SCHULZ, Bismarkstrasse 17, 5000 Koln.

26-29 D.C. Eagle—16th Anniversary; Washington, DC.

28 •Bucks, MC—Santa Saturday; New Hope, PA.

SLM-Stockholm—General Assembly.

29 •SLM-Stockholm—Western Party.

4-6 •Nikolaustreffen, MSC Suedwest Lahr.

SM House party, Knights Templar; San

5 Francisco.

Centaur, MC—Christmas Party; Washington

DC

MSC-Finland—Uniform Night.

S / M and Aging, GMSMA, New York City.

Driezehn Meeting, Boston.

11-13 •NLC-Franken—Christkindles; Markt Treffen

Clubhouse Party, The 15, San Francisco

12

Empire City, MC — 24th Annual Charit

Christmas Party; New York.

SLM-Stockholm—Sankta Lucia.

·Hoods & Helmets, SM Gays, London. 16

Clubhouse party, Chicago Hellfire Club.

19

Lost Angels & Spartan, MC—Party Hearty

Washington, DC.

SLM-Stockholm—Christmas Party.

MSC-Finland—Christmas Party.

Traditional Holiday.

25

MSC-Finland—New Year's Party.

31

Philadelphians—Tri-Cen-V; Philadelphia, PA

(Through Jan. 1)

JANUARY

SLM-Stockholm—Happy New Leather Yea

2

15-17 •Centaur, MC-Leather Weekend '88 & M Mid- Atlantic Leatherman Contest; Washington, DC.

29-31 •Come Rong '88, South Pacific Motor Club Sydney Australia.

30 •SLM-Stockholm—Annual Meeting and Party

TOUGH SSTOMERS

It gets cold during the winters of Sweden and this 31 year old Tough Customer is looking to contact bearded Daddies who want to play, safe and sane sex, with a rubber and leather boy. He has an open mind but not into drugs. He is 185 cm at 85 kg and waiting for you to contact him at: TC 1242.

HOUSTON TOP SEEKS YOUNGER BOTTOM

Here's a hot Tough Customer who is into spanking, shaving, B&D, T / T, CBT, and various other activities. He is 32, 5'10", 145 lbs. and looking for 21 to 30 year olds, who are well built, and ready for total domination. Light drinker is ok but no drugs. Send photo if you expect a response to: TC 1227.

WEST GERMAN PIT STOP

This German Tough Customer is looking for serious, masculine men. Race and nationality is unimportant. He wants to meet gay tourists, especially from the U.S.A., for hot safe sex sessions at their hotel, during their stops in Frankfurt and Rhein-Main-Area. He's hot and ready, 36 years old, 155 lbs., green eyes, dark haired, and in good shape. He is also looking for hot pen-pals so get those pens out and write to: TC 1202.

THINK YOU'RE A HOT DRUMMERMAN? CAN'T FIND THE RIGHT STUD OR THAT PERFECT BOTTOM?

Each month we pick the hottest candid photos for Tough Customers. Send your black and white photos (color photos are acceptable but do not reproduce well) with your name and address printed on the back, state that you are of legal age, sign your name and we will assign you a confidential TC Box number. (Photos are not returnable.)

To answer a TC ad, put correspondence in an envelope, seal, apply postage and write (in pencil) the TC number on the back flap. Put this inside another envelope along with a quarter for handling, and mail to Tough Customers, PO Box 11314, San Francisco, CA 94101-1314.

IN PASSING

SANDMUTOPIA UNIVERSITY VIDEO

Something Different in S / M Viewing

Each tape has two parts. Part One is a demonstration in which Professor Fledermaus uses a hunky bottom to demonstrate equipment and techniques. The second half of each video is a "hands-on" session; a session in which the techniques discussed in the first part are put into practice.

SENSITIZING THE SKIN SUV1

Fledermaus demonstrates the violet wand and hot wax techniques, then proceeds on to an extended hot wax scene which includes a cock casting. $69.95

ROPE THAT WORKS SUV2

Fledermaus gives the facts on rope bondage, including a few basic ties and details on the rope body harness. Then four men engage in a lively scene that includes four different bondage positions as well as a lot of ass beating and cock & ball torture. $79.95

SUV3 WHIPS 1, BEATING ASS

Fledermaus demonstrates a wide variety of implements from fly swatters to exotic whips and explains techniques for variations from light stimulation of the skin to deep, lasting bruises. Then Master Mario demonstrates ass beating with two different bottoms. $69.95

NEW! SUV4 WHIPS 2, LONG WHIPS

Fledermaus demonstrates a variety of cats and other longtailed whips on the back and ass of a spread-eagled bottom. Then Fred and Henry engage in a heavy back flogging. You've seen stills from their scenes in three Zeus Inferno books. Now, for the first time, action video is available for this dynamic duo. $69.95

Each video is approximately one hour in length. Specify VHS or Beta. VHS will be shipped if you do not specify. No refunds or exchanges except in the event of a defective tape. Please give an address for UPS delivery. If you insist on a PO Box, include $5 extra for insurance and special handling. Photos shown here are from SUV3, Whips 1, Beating Ass.

SIGNATURE REQUIRED REGARDLESS OF METHOD OF PAYMENT